


Singing Dawnblade

by KaytiKazoo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: College, Critical Role Spoilers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Family Issues, Identity Issues, Post Campaign 1, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-22 01:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17653868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaytiKazoo/pseuds/KaytiKazoo
Summary: Life has changed for Kaylie Shorthalt since finally finding her father. Firstly, she's filthy rich, and attending school at the Alabaster Lyceum. Dealing with the trauma of dying and being brought back to life, Kaylie is trying to navigate this new life, her new family, and the sense of self that's slipping from her grasp.





	1. Chapter 1

Life had changed dramatically for Kaylie Shorthalt in the last few months. In the past year or so, she had gone from nobody important on a mission to confront her father to a mafia boss to the daughter of a hero of Exandria. And on top of that, as if that were not enough to give anybody a case of the spins, she was wonderfully and filthily rich now. So rich, what with the money from the Meat Man business being sold, that she was now a student at the Alabaster Lyceum in Emon.

So rich that when she tipped a few gold into the hat of a fellow musician on the street, she wasn’t risking starvation herself.

So rich that she bought herself the nicest violin in Emon and she barely blinked.

Past Kaylie was crowing at her success.

Well,  _their_  success.

She hadn’t done it alone, and Past Kaylie was just as confused about that as she was now. 

But, the success bought her a future, one that started the first chilly morning of fall. 

She woke up to the sound of her father singing a good morning, setting an over-sized breakfast tray on her bed with his signature smile. Sometimes she hated that smile. She especially hated it before 10 AM. The sun hadn’t even begun to peek over the distant mountains, and Kaylie wanted to smack the smile off his face.

He would let her.

She hated him for that, too. Except she didn’t hate him and she couldn’t. They had been through too much. They had died and come back to life, they had travelled, they had run an entire underground business, and they had lived. Not just survived but thrived.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“No,” she scoffed. “I’m awesome and they’re blessed to be around me.”

He smiled, and her heart squeezed a little bit. There was a look of pride, of unadulterated love in his eyes that she once never thought she would see, that once she never wanted to.

“You’re absolutely right. But,” he said, swiping a piece of bacon from her plate, “if you are nervous, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not nervous.”

He shrugged.

“Sometimes, even the most experienced of musicians get stage fright. The best musicians go out despite the fear.”

“I do not have stage fright.”

He chewed on his bacon and didn’t argue with her. She looked at the plate of food before her, her stomach in knots at the sight of it. She took a small nibble of toast, and Scanlan beamed at her for even that effort.

His pride was unexpected.

It wasn’t unwelcome, but it wasn’t something she had planned on when she confronted him in Emon all those months ago.

“I’m a little nervous,” she finally whispered in the silence of her room. Scanlan had offered her a spare room in Greyskull Keep, and had helped her settle in over the past few days. He would be going back to Westeruun or Whitestone; he hadn’t decided yet. The keep, he said, was essentially hers for awhile.

“Keyleth went back to Vesrah. Percy and Vex are in Whitestone. Pike, Grog, and I still haven’t decided where we’re going to settle down but Pike’s grandfather, Wilhand, he’s getting sicker. So we might settle there for a while. But we still have this keep and it is all yours. This could be your home. If you want. It has everything a keep could need. There’s a kitchen, a temple, a workshop thing downstairs that Percy built. Whatever you need. Just don’t burn it down. Please,” he had said. Kaylie didn’t mention Scanlan’s pointed evasion of mentioning Vax’ildan. She didn’t need to hurt him like that. She knew how much he had tried, how long he had waited with his plan in hand until there was no other choice. She knew the tears he cried some nights that he hadn’t been good enough to save his friend. She knew the pain he carried with him that, because of him, Vax was gone. She knew, and she loved him.

He had woken up that day with the plan to fight two gods to save the life of his friend.

That’s the kind of man her mother once told her would sweep back into her life and love her like a father should. Even back then, Kaylie knew it had just been a fantasy, but somehow, some way, the gods had smiled upon her and gifted her with this. She was glad, and confused, and didn’t know how to feel yet.

They had packed up their belongings from Ank'harel and moved back to Whitestone. When the time came, Scanlan helped her repack her bags and they planned for her future as a student of the Alabaster Lyceum. Thankfully and luckily for them, Gilmore had decided to come back to Emon at the same time to check in on his shop now that the threats of dragons and would-be gods had passed and they had hitched a ride using his circle of teleportation.

“It’s okay to be nervous. As long as you don’t let it hold you back,” Scanlan said. “Fear is a natural response to new things, to just life in general. But what makes you brave is doing what scares you anyway.”

“Says the savior of Exandria.”

“That just means that I have the authority to give that advice.”

“We can’t all be heroes, you know. Some of us are cowards.”

“Sure, but you’re not one of them.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Listen, I know you. I may not have known you for as long as I’d have hoped, as long as I’d have liked. But I do know that you have done some of the  bravest things I have ever seen. You helped me keep everyone safe in Westruun when the goliaths were threatening the church. You are a force to be reckoned with and I loathe to be at the end of your wrath again.”

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. He had an infectious attitude sometimes.

She hated it.

Except, she didn’t. 

She couldn’t. Not anymore.

“So,” he continued, “you are going to go out into the world, face those snobby rich kids at the Lyceum, and you’re going to show them that Shorthalt is a name to remember.”

They grinned at each other. Infectious. The same smile reflected back on itself ad infinitum.

* * *

 

The Alabaster Lyceum was a huge, ornate building in the middle of Emon. She could see it from several blocks away, looming up and casting a shadow over the street. It blocked out the sun, shading her from the sun’s warmth.

She wondered how large a building full of books and self-important airheads could be. It had to be so big to cater to all of their bloated heads. The archways were probably massive to accommodate two balloon-for-brains passing each other. The thought made her chuckle to herself, hiking her pack up between her shoulder blades. She was ready to face them, show them what hard work, determination, and street smarts got you. She had grown up fighting for her life, digging her own grave in anticipation of not having her next meal for a while. She would borrow the platinum spoons from her neighbors to do so, watching them with jealousy and confusion. How did they have so much? Why did she have so little? 

She was going to show those platinum spoons what she was worth, that all of the times that she bathed in the nearby stream had made her resilient, made her tough, made her something to be feared. She was going to show those nincompoops in the world that Kaylie Shorthalt was an unstoppable force and an immovable object. She was going to show the world that you should know Kaylie Shorthalt’s name, and not just in relation to her father and what he had done for the world. Someday, she would strike out on her own. She would gather up her wit, her will, her violin, and she would forge her own path.

And it started right there in the heart of Emon, staring up at the most intimidating building she could imagine.

She squared her shoulders, adjusted her neatly pressed shirt and pants, and with all of the Shorthalt confidence she could screw together, Kaylie strode confidently past the guards at the gate into the massive white stone building. They let her pass without issue, and the well of anxiety that she had felt all morning drained. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, and if anyone asked, she would vehemently deny it, but she was nervous. She felt like an imposter.

Once on the road with Dr Dranzel, he had explained the imposter syndrome to her. He had given her a long-winded explanation complete with multiple examples based on his own experience, but what she understood was that it really boiled down to the feeling that you aren’t actually responsible for your accomplishments and it’s a constant fear that you will be exposed as a fraud. You often believe that any accolades or promotions you are given are merely an act of luck, or that you were successful in accidentally tricking others into believing you are better, more talented and more intelligent than you are. 

She tried not to think of herself as a fraud walking through those doors, but it was hard when she had once hand-sewn extra fabric onto her jacket because she had grown out of it and they couldn’t afford a new one.  

There was a milling of students in the front hall, all chatting as if they were old friends. Kaylie felt the nerves seize up in her chest, but she remembered who she was. She remembered why she was there. She remembered Scanlan, and Sybil. She remembered the gnomes that had come before her in order to lead her here. All of the magic in the world, all of the talent, all of the luck, all of the coincidence, all of the serendipity, and it had all lead her in this hall with everyone else.

She deserved to be here, and she was going to show every single motherfucker in that hall that it was the truth. 

* * *

 

Kaylie had been a small child when she first picked up a violin. It had called to her, staring from across the room. It was too big for her small hands, built for adult humans and not gnome children like her. She has seen a violinist testing the tone of the instrument by pulling a bow across the strings. The sound vibrated in Kaylie's chest and hugged her like an old friend. She fell in love with it. Her mother was selling and advertising her services, a small booth in the middle of the busy Kymal market to try and drum up business. Kaylie, too small for classes and too wild for daycare, had been brought along, and there was only so much a small child could do before her eyes and interest began to wander. She ducked away from her mother as she headed towards a music shop on the corner. The instruments were such funny shapes and sizes, most larger than she would ever be, and she had an itch to touch them. She wanted to run her hands over the sleek wood and feel what magic they held.

With all of her stealth and smallness, she snuck into the shop, wandering up and down it’s aisles. There were so many different types on display, and she could tell there were some that she could never begin to understand or play. One brass instrument had an opening larger than her head, and looked like it weighed more than she did. But there were some her size – well, she’d grow into them. 

Then, there was the violin.

The shape, the size, the way it sang, the way it smelled and felt beneath her finger tips, everything about it made her want to run to her mom and beg her for the money to buy it. 

She didn’t understand how money worked, then. Too young for reality to hit her yet, Kaylie looked at the world like it was kind, giving, and generous. She thought that if she gave her mother the best, nicest look, that violin might appear in their little home out back of the pub her mother worked at during the night. She didn’t understand that one violin and the lessons it would take to teach Kaylie not to screech the bow across the strings cost more than three months of wages and tips for her mother. Money had no weight back then. She didn’t understand the work and prayers that went into just getting a couple silver. She didn’t understand that a well-crafted, beautiful piece of art work that that violin was could cost her mother so much. 

She wanted it so much, though.

That’s all she understood. She saw something beautiful, something that inexplicably pulled her towards it like a lasso around her heart, and she wanted it.

 She watched the way the customer in the shop wielded the bow, the graceful tips of their fingers running down the neck, the way they tucked it underneath their chin and held it with ease and grace, the soft look on their face as it sang for them. Kaylie watched with wide wonder eyes, and didn’t look away. The violinist in the shop caught her staring and smiled.

“Can I play you something?” sthey had asked. They were an elf, taller than Kaylie could imagine anyone being, with long fingers and a beautiful smile. It was the first time that she had a crush on someone, this beautiful light-haired musician with big brown eyes that looked at her so softly. 

“Anything,” Kaylie had said. 

Kaylie would hear the song that the violinist played for years, whenever she was sad, or angry, or lonely. When she struck out on her own, when she missed her mom, when the seething hate for her father would become too much, she would remember that song that had played all those years ago, and she would feel at peace.

She never saw that elven violinist again, but Kaylie would remember them, their song, and their violin for the rest of her life. 

* * *

 

“You can tell the ones that don’t belong here,” an elven girl said loudly at meal time the first day of classes at the Lyceum. “The ones that the council took pity on. You know, the  _scholarship_  kids.”

She was beautiful. Kaylie could tell that she was the kind of girl who had probably never heard the word no in her entire life. She was tall and lithe in the way that only full-blooded elves were, and she had sleek strawberry blonde hair that she had braided around her head like a crown. Well, Kaylie thought, she hadn’t done it. She was the kind of girl that didn’t do commoner things like braid her own hair. She had probably grown up with maids and servants to do such things for her. Kaylie doubted that she had even dressed herself that morning. 

It was always the most beautiful people that said the most garbage shit in the world.

She said scholarship like it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Kaylie tamped down the immediate Shorthalt response as it cropped up that Kaylie could definitely chase that taste away with her own mouth, and forced herself to focus. She was so beautiful, and yet somehow there was something ugly about her, hiding just below the surface. 

She was looking directly at Kaylie.

Her eyes then traced the room and found every single one of the supposed  _scholarship_ kids _._ Kaylie looked around too but she didn’t have the keen eye of a classist piece of shit. All she saw were students, all dressed to impress, book bags settled by their feet, their meals before them on the table. The scholarship kids, Kaylie noticed, were the ones across the hall from her, a pack of three students huddled together at a single table. 

The other kids sneered at them as soon as the beautiful elven girl pointed them out. 

Kaylie, bleeding heart, champion of the small, fan of the underdog, marched across the hall with her tray of food and sat down with the group.

“Hi,” she said chipperly. “I’m Kaylie Shorthalt.”

She said it loudly. She used her vocal training to project without being obnoxious. She wanted them to hear. 

There was a small hush that fell over the crowd. 

“What are you sitting with us for?” the halfling dressed in muted earth tones with their hair up in a series on buns asked, their accent lilting like they were from the north. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” she challenged. They didn’t have an answer, except to stare at her in shock.

There was a shuffle behind her as Kaylie tucked into her lunch. She didn’t look up, even as the eyes of her companions flicked up over her shoulder.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” the voice from behind her said, and Kaylie knew it was the beautiful girl with the crown without having to look up. She could tell that by the squeak of the bench across the room. Fighting for your life on the road teaches you a lot of things that classical training wouldn’t. Carrying a sword like she did, even into the Lyceum, taught her that she knew how to solve most problems. “Did you say Shorthalt?”

“Aye,” she said without turning. “I did as that’s my name.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be related to the Vox Machina Shorthalt, would you?”

“I would.”

The girl sat down at the table beside her and Kaylie finally looked up at her. 

“That must be so exciting,” the girl said. “I’m Deirdre, Deirdre Lemon.”

She stuck her hand out for Kaylie, and Kaylie simply looked at her. She was even more beautiful up close, light freckles dusting over her cheeks and nose. Her eyes were a stunning green with flecks of almost luminescent gold. 

“Can I help you with something?” she finally asked after the moment to shake Deirdre’s hand had passed and the look on the elf’s face was turning. “Because if you wouldn’t mind, I’m going to go back to my lunch with some people worth talking to. You know, the ones who had to work to get here instead of had their way bought.”

Deirdre recoiled.

Kaylie turned back to the meal and smiled at the group around her warmly. 

“What are your names?” she asked, pointedly not looking at Deirdre who rose and stomped away in a huff. 

* * *

 

She learned that the group were indeed scholarship kids. They were wonderful and, in her opinion, worth more than all of the trust funds the rest of the school had combined. 

The halfling was a druid named Dien; they were snarky, spunky, and had an overwhelming curiosity about all things arcane. It was the kind of curiosity that had gotten them more or less kicked out of their tribe. They were supposed to be mastering their connection with nature and the forces of the world; instead they had wound up studying at the Lyceum. There was more than one way to learn about the world, they had insisted. 

There was a young child with deep purple skin and curled horns that she tied ribbons and bows around who was named Bubble. She was extremely gifted with illusory magic and had a knack for getting out of trouble except for the small hiccup that sometimes she wasn’t quite in control. Extra spells burst out of her on occasion like the magic inside of her was a stallion, bucking to be free. 

Lastly, there was an older half-elven man who could be found studying intently every day. He carried meticulously cared for books around with him and relied on them in order to wield his magic. He had a thing for fire, Kaylie had noticed rather quickly. He liked to set things on fire in hopes that they would explode. She didn’t mention the lab back at the keep where Percy had kept ingredients and tools to build and design explosives. His name was Tyrell, and in another life, Kaylie swore he had been born a druid. 

She fell in love with them easily. They reminded her, somehow, of Vox Machina. She fell in with them without a thought, as if they had been friends forever.  

Once, she had wondered at how the mismatched personalities of Vox Machina had come together so well. They were all so different. They came from different backgrounds and had different passions, and yet in their fights, they moved and thought as one. They had defeated an entire coven of dragons. They had taken down the reanimated corpse of a titan that still stood in the city as a monument to their success, and their sacrifice. They had stunningly saved the city of Vasselheim and thwarted the greatest evil to face Exandria yet. 

She wasn’t under the delusion that her friends were the next Vox Machina. She wasn’t sure there could ever be another one of those. But it felt good to settle into their group like a found family.

Because that’s what the saviors of Exandria were underneath all the pomp and circumstance that paraded after them now, a family that had fallen together by chance and stuck together by choice. Even with the world between them now, Kaylie knew that their hearts still belonged to each other.

She hoped to find that someday.

It didn’t even have to be a romantic connection. Kaylie just wanted to be surrounded by a large, loving, ride or die family. She’d been an only child with just her single working mother. She was loved but she was left alone more than she was anything else. 

“I’ve always wanted to try a fire spell under water,” Tyrell said at lunch a few weeks into the semester. He was peering at a book propped up in front of him, simultaneously shoving mashed potatoes into his mouth. Every three or four spoonfuls, he missed his mouth. It was amusing to watch, if a bit disgusting. “I just want to know what kind of effect it would have.”

“It wouldn’t work, that’s the effect it would have,” Dien said without looking up from their own meal. “You also can’t cast underwater without some kind of magical or technological intervention.”

“I wasn’t going to go all the way underwater,” Tyrell said. “I was just going to stick my hand under the water when I cast.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“Don’t be so negative, you don’t know that.”

Dien looked up at Tyrell then without an expression. 

“Do you realize that I was learning to control the elements when I was three? Because I was some kind of gifted child with a destiny.”

They reminded Kaylie of Keyleth.

“They wanted me to become the leader of the guard, to protect our tribe’s shaman. I stopped being a child to become something powerful. I mastered fire before I could spell my own name,” they said.

“Are you a part of the Ashari?” Kaylie asked, unable to stop herself.

Dien looked up at her.

“No, but how do you know about them?”

“I know Keyleth, the headmaster of the air Ashari? She saved-”

Dien interrupted, “yes. I know who Keyleth is. She saved Emon from the dragons with the rest of Vox Machina. Sometimes, sometimes I forget you’re someone important.”

“I’m not important,” Kaylie laughed. “Not yet. I’m just related to someone important. That does not make me someone important by default.”

“Agree to disagree, I guess,” Dien said. “My tribe broke off from the fire Ashari a century ago or something. They didn’t agree with some of the tenants of the Ashari, so we started our own tribe. At least, that’s what we were told. I’m not sure what really happened.”

“That’s interesting,” Kaylie said. “What tenants?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. Part of the reason I was kicked out, probably.”

“Shitty tribe,” she said, nudging Dien with the toe of her shoe.

“Yeah, well, I’m a shitty druid.”

There was a lull in conversation before Dien finally looked at Tyrell. 

“I’ll help you with successfully casting a fire spell underwater if you want, Tyr,” they offered. Tyrell positively beamed at Dien, and Kaylie felt the family ties tighten and pull her closer. She had only known them a few weeks, but she was sure that she’d stick with them for the rest of her life.

* * *

Deirdre, like a villain from fiction, kept cropping up in Kaylie’s life. They were in several classes together and because Deirdre was a teacher’s pet, she was assigned to show Kaylie around as the new girl that semester, so Kaylie was forced to make nice with her. Well, as nice as she could. 

She had a streak of meanness in her that she couldn’t deny. 

“Good morning, class,” their professor said, swinging into the classroom just before the bell rang. “Welcome back. I’m pleased to see everyone could make it this morning.”

He was an older elven man with wrinkles and greying hair, which meant to Kaylie that he was ancient. From what she understood, full-blooded elves could live past 700 years. She herself would live until 500 or so, which was terrifying at only 20 years old. She wasn’t even mature for a gnome. She felt she was a baby compared to her classmates, even if she’d seen and experienced about three times as much as they had. 

She had died.

She had come back to life.

Sitting in class, she wondered what Deirdre would say about that. 

It kept weighing on her, though. She had stared at her father’s corpse and through her somehow, and Sarenrae’s blessing, he had come back to life. Her father had stared at her own corpse and somehow, with Sarenrae’s blessing, she had come back to life in his arms. He had just held her, and she felt more loved and protected than she had in years. She felt like something unnatural at times, staring at herself in the mirror. She still had the scar from where the dagger had sunk into her. She would run her fingers along its raised edge and feel foreign in her own body.

“We are moving into the verbal component of spellcasting unit. So, today, we’re going to be studying how pronunciation affects evocation. Can you actually cast a spell correctly without a proper verbal component? What are the effects of proper annunciation on the effect, the potential, the potency of a spell?”

He paused, looking over their class for a reaction.

“To do that, we are going to be pairing off and working in groups of two to document results. For this, I will be choosing your partners.”

The class groaned.

“Keep it up, I can make it worse.”

The class clammed up, looking sheepish.

“So, let’s see. Timbertrap and Andeleaves, you’ll be one. Halfhale, Scuttle, two. Shorthalt, Lemon, three.”

Deirdre cut a glance at her with a small sneer. 

“Don’t mess this up for me, Shorthalt.”

Kaylie rolled her eyes. She had been messing with magic through music for years. She knew that annunciation was important. Personally, she’d accidentally set fire to her troupe because she was casting while drunk, slurring her words. 

“Here are your guidelines for this study. You will be dismissed from class today early in order to work on this in safe zones. There will be no supervision but I trust that you will be courteous and intelligent spellcasters. That being said, I have a couple rules that you must follow. If you do not, and someone witnesses the rules being broken, I will suspend you so quickly. I’m trusting you to behave. So, the first rule: Do not intentionally hurt one another. Attempt to cast spells to aid your partner. Do not cast fireball. If I hear that you’ve been casting fireball in my Lyceum, I will remove your tongue myself.”

Kaylie chewed on her lip.

She and Deirdre were very different casters. She didn’t want her magic to go awry because she was expected to cast like a sorcerer. 

Their professor continued, essentially outlining the basic tenants of casting for them for the hundredth time.

“Okay, you have listened to me lecture long enough. Go out and make some discoveries. And remember, it only counts if you record your results.”

The professor moved to sit at his desk while the other students got up to speak with one another about where to go and what they wanted to try. There was an excited murmur to the whisper. Her classmates would do anything to be able to cast spells. You weren’t allowed to in the Lyceum without being in the practice space or without special permission from the professor. It was rough learning magic when you weren’t allowed to do magic.

The Lyceum had stood for centuries, though, and had turned out some of the greatest wizards, sorcerers, and overall spellcasters in history. They must be doing something right.

One would think.

It was hard to say that in the moment, staring down someone who only came into her life because of the Lyceum. If they had met in a tavern, Kaylie would have had no problem taking care of the nuisance. However, because of the venue, Kaylie held her tongue and acted like she weren’t raised in the streets. If this was her territory, Deirdre would be dust.

“So,” Deirdre finally said after a long moment in silence. The buzz around them was beginning to die down as their classmates headed for the door in pairs. “We should go find a place to practice.”

Kaylie nodded and collected her belongings, putting them in her bag without care of what got crumpled or what order they went in. Deirdre looked at her in horror, but Kaylie kept moving like it didn’t bother her. 

“Any ideas where we should go?” Kaylie asked with the nicest tone she could manage. This girl had thought she was worthless at first glance until she found a use for her. Kaylie couldn’t think of anyone she hated more than fake ass social climbers. Well, besides dragons. 

Those scaled fucks could go rot in every circle of the Nine Hells.

“Actually, yes.”

Kaylie looked up at her, surprised. She shouldn’t have been, but somehow, Deirdre's self-assured answer caught her off guard. 

“Okay. Then. Lead the way.”

She picked up her bag and then her flute case- smaller than the violin she had considered bringing for her magic through music lesson that day- and motioned for Deirdre to continue. 

She was one of the only bards in their entire Lyceum. Most bards, like herself and her father, had studied on the road itself. You learned by listening. A true bard listens to the music of the world and uses that power to bend reality. Through song, you can heal a friend, smite an enemy, woo a lover. It was music that brought their will to life, and you learned that kind of music by listening to what the world had to say. Stories were the real power in the world. Stories were where the world changed.

 

* * *

 

Deirdre lead her past all of the practice wards and down into a series of dark hallways below the Lyceum itself. It was reminiscent of the sewers below Westeruun when Vox Machina took on the goliaths, except it was cleaner down here. 

“Are you going to murder me? Because a dark hallway below the school isn’t very original. I was expecting something with a little flare. Some pizazz. Something dramatic. I mean, if I’m gonna die a second time, it better be something glorious that kills me.”

Deirdre glanced at her with a curiosity dancing in her eyes, pulling the corners of her small mouth down slightly.

“I’m not gonna murder you. How unoriginal.”

“Well, why are we down here?”

“Because,” she said simply. “This is the best place to practice magic.”

She stopped at a T-section and instead of turning left or right, she put her hands against the wall at the end. She mumbled a few arcane words, and the door that Kaylie hadn’t realized existed swung open for them to walk through.

“Yo,” Kaylie said under her breath. “What spell is that?”

Deirdre smirked over her shoulder.

“Come on, Shorthalt.”

She strode through the new opening without looking back at Kaylie. She disappeared into the room, and Kaylie, ever curious, followed Deirdre into the room. The room wasn’t very large. It wasn’t very anything. In fact, it was the blandest room in the entire Lyceum. It surprised Kaylie to see that Deirdre would be drawn to such a room. Deirdre carried a bag that spoke to her wealth, with fancy stitching and little jewels sewn into the straps. She wore the most pristine and ostentatious robes. The elf wanted people’s eyes to follow her, for their minds to wander after her even when she was gone. She was in the spotlight and she seemed to revel in it, Kaylie knew that much, which meant that Kaylie’s ire for her was really just feeding into her ego. Kaylie couldn’t help herself, though; the feeling just rose inside her until it was ready to burst. 

“What is this place?” Kaylie asked aloud.

“A little piece of Elysium,” Deirdre said with a shrug. Her back was to Kaylie and Kaylie couldn’t stop herself from tracing Deirdre’s figure with her eyes. “I found it when I was trying to practice my somatic components. Master Dryden said that my somatic could use work.”

“It’s nice,” Kaylie said. It was in a minimalist kind of way. There was a table in the center of the room with a chair on either side, and the walls were a bare white stone surface with no dimples or character. “Leaves a little to be desired, but it’s nice.”

There were two braziers in opposite corners that had blazed to life with their presence inside of the room, forcing the cloak of shadow out of the door and into the dim hallway.

Deirdre made an instinctual face at Kaylie but took her seat at the table. Like everything else, it was a simple wooden table no larger than a card table. Kaylie slowly lowered herself into her seat and set her flute case and her bag aside. 

“So, who wants to start?” Kaylie asked. 

“I will,” Deirdre said confidently. Of course, she did. That did not surprise Kaylie in the slightest. It was always Deirdre first, or Deirdre best. She didn’t have an ounce of compassion in her body, Kaylie was sure, not one speck of decency and manners that tell her to give to those less fortunate than her. It was fine. Kaylie wasn’t bitter. But if more people like Deirdre had been kind and giving when Kaylie was growing up, if more people had cared that Kaylie was so skinny because she ate scraps every night like a stray dog, her childhood might not have been awful. If someone had seen Sybil working herself to the bone, her fingers aching from all of the seams she put back together, things might have been different for them. 

“Okay, but I’m trusting you. Do not murder me.”

Deirdre rolled her eyes.

“Such little faith for a Shorthalt.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She motioned to Kaylie to hold out her hands, palms up. 

“Deirdre, what-”

Deirdre didn’t answer as she closed her eyes and with expert precision, she cast Prestidigitation. It swept over Kaylie and pulled the dirt from her clothes and whisked it away into nothing. She narrowed her eyes at Deirdre.

“What was that for?”

“Control, darling. We have to have proper verbal component to compare the slurred verbal against, or else our findings will be incomplete.”

“I wasn’t dirty.”

“And yet, the spell worked.”

“You’re so entitled.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Like the daughter of a savior of Emon has any room to talk about being entitled.”

“I am not entitled,” Kaylie said.

“We both know you paid for your tuition in platinum the same way the rest of us that you judge so harshly do.”

“I earned that platinum, thank you. My father and I worked for it, and we earned every last copper piece. And you? Have you ever worked for anything, Deirdre? Or is the Lemon family work ethic just as poor as those you think you are better than? Of course, you’re above getting your hands a little dirty, aren’t you? That’s too common, too  _underprivileged_. You couldn’t possibly be seen slumming it with us common folk. Fucking typical high elf behavior.”

Dierdre snarled out a word and the spell hit Kaylie in the chest, the wording inexact in her fury. The attempt at firebolt fizzled as it danced across Kaylie’s tunic, the flames tickling across the leather vest she wore over it. She smirked at Deirdre. Kaylie was good at starting fights, and luckily for herself, because of her penchant for starting fights, Kaylie knew how to finish them. 

“Oh, that was cute,” she said before she let the power in her follow her words. “Poor little rich girl can’t even handle being called names. Poor little rich girl has never been inconvenienced like this.”

There was a moment where Deirdre tried to resist the effect but it burst inside her brain and she stumbled backwards. Kaylie smirked.

“For control, darling,” she said simply, echoing Deirdre’s words.

“You’re such a street rat, you know that?” Deirdre snapped, righting herself and glaring at Kaylie. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Nice? You cleaned my clothes like I’m some kind of unpleasant piece of dog shit on your shoe! You assumed because I have money that I’m similar to you. Well, I’m not. I will never be. I would rather return with the Raven Queen to the afterlife permanently.”

Deirdre narrowed her crystalline eyes at her.

“Having money isn’t something dirty, you know.”

“Not having money isn’t either!” Kaylie exploded. “I grew up poor, Lemon. I grew up with a single mother who spent most of her day as a quilter and then picked up second and third jobs just to pay our rent. She worked every day all day to keep me fed. I scraped up all of the money I earned in tips to go to college in Westruun and it was people like you that drove me out of school to travel as a performer. Being poor is harder than you could ever imagine. Have you carried the weight of your next meal on your shoulders? Because you cannot imagine what it’s like pressing your fist hard into your stomach at school because you’re too hungry and it’s starting to announce it to the entire class.”

Deirdre’s eyebrows furrowed and her mouth set itself into a frown, but she didn’t speak. 

“You treat my friends like garbage,” Kaylie continued. She didn’t know when to stop. When she had a stage, an audience, she reveled in it. She couldn’t control herself. “You took one look at me and thought I was worthless because I wasn’t rich, except when you realized who I was. That’s not how you should treat people, Deirdre!”

“Oh, like you treated me any better.”

“My behavior was an exact response of how you treated me. It’s not my fault you decided I was only someone of interest after I realized how terrible of a person you actually are.”

Kaylie leaned over and swept up her belongings from the ground.

“Turn in whatever you like, tell the professor that the spell went terribly wrong and I can’t come to class for a few says. Just stay the fuck away from me.”

She stormed out, unable to stop herself from slamming the door. When the occasion arose, she couldn’t stop herself from being dramatic. It was in her blood. She wasn’t a Shorthalt if she didn’t take the dramatic exit. She headed straight for the gates, sweeping past students and faculty, and- she intended to go home, back to the keep, at least. Instead, she found herself turning towards the market. 

She stopped at the edge of a bizarre, the street busy, the shops bustling. There was a corner that was perfect, where she set up her case in front of her with her back to a shop so she wasn’t in the way. And she began to play. 

It was cathartic, the way she let the notes play straight from her soul, the sound extracting itself from her, crawling out of the flute and floating on the wind. She kept her eyes closed, listening to the sound of her sorrow and loneliness. Music had always been a way that she expressed herself, expressed her frustrations with the world. Music allowed her to be honest, open, and raw with a world that otherwise did not care. The world only cared if you made it entertaining, or made them feel it. That was what Kaylie was good at. She let every bit of emotion into every one of her songs, even if it left her weeping at the corner of the street in Emon. 

Passing pedestrians tossed a few coins into the case, even a few platinum landed in the soft velvet lining. She didn’t need it, not with the remainder of her share of the Meat Man’s business. It felt nice though, a quantifiable enjoyment from the crowd. She would take it to the orphanage at the edge of town or find a beggar that needed it. Too much gold weighed her down now. Once, she would have sworn there wasn’t such a thing. 

Except they had lived a life of luxury in Ank’harel. She hadn’t wanted for anything. They sold fake antiques at top dollar, and they were almost filthy rich. It was stunning what money could do. Then they sold the business and now she could fill a bath with gold and swim in it. She could literally swim in money. 

She kept it tucked away, her change purse kept in a pocket dimension with her life’s worth. Sometimes, it made her nervous to think about. Other times, she remembered how much good she could do in the world with it. The first thing she’d done when they started making good money in Ank’harel was to send her mother a large coin purse. Her mother had sent her a long letter asking her about everything that she had seen, and told her all about little Kymal and its gossip. Being a quilter, Sybil always had her ear to the gossip. 

Kaylie cried the day that her mother’s letter came saying that the money had paid off her debt and she had quit her job to be a full time dress-maker. She had helped her mother finally own their home, and now, because of her, because of the things that she had done in her life, her mother had free time now to follow her dreams. 

She smiled into the music as it turned sweet. 

She played for Sybil, and Scanlan. She played for the love that her mother had raised her in, and the love that Scanlan had found in her, and her in him. She played for Juniper, her grandmother she would never meet but she knew was proud of her. She played for the Shorthalt family, the blood coursing through her veins, the song in her heart that beat to the same rhythm as every other Shorthalt in the world. She played for her mother’s family who had died when Sybil was still growing up. She played for the grandfather who had left Juniper pregnant, and for the father that had done the same to Sybil. She let all of her history, hidden in the shadows for so long, take center stage. 

It didn’t matter if anyone was listening, if anyone cared. She felt all of her worries sliding away. This was for her. This song, this moment, this corner of the street in a city she wasn’t super familiar with. 

This was for her.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t go back to the Lyceum to attend the rest of her classes that day. Instead, she found herself a little nook at a tavern and nursed a large tankard of ale for the afternoon. She kept running over the confrontation with Deirdre. She might have over reacted. There wasn’t any reason to cast Vicious Mockery on her just to do it. That had been cruel as Deirdre actually hadn’t harmed her. She had tried but she hadn’t actually done it. She had a mean streak; she knew that. 

 You didn’t get to planning to murder your father without a bit of a mean streak. She watched the tavern life move in and out, waves to and from the bar and the tables, swaying with the unique rhythms of day drunks. Ever since she had left the College of the White Duke, taverns and dives like this one had become like a second home to her. Traveling with Dr. Dranzel and his troupe had allowed her a lot of experiences, had shown her so much. There were so many interesting people to meet in taverns, people with more life experiences than you could imagine. You could hear the most outrageous stories from drunks in taverns, some true, some fabricated. Still, they were fun stories to listen to. Drunks told the best stories. 

“You’re Dranzel’s girl, ain’t ya?” a drunken Halfling with ruddy cheeks and wild black curls asked, climbing up into her booth without her permission. 

“I travelled with him, aye,” she replied. “But I’m no one’s girl.”

“You played the flute,” he said, slurring his words. 

“Yes.”

“You were real good.”

“Yes, I am.”

He nodded.

“My wife loved you guys. She said that you were so beautiful, you reminded her of herself when she was young.”

“Thanks?”

“And then she left me.”

Kaylie wasn’t expecting that, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“She said that she used to be as beautiful as you and as talented. She had wasted her youth with me, and she wasn’t going to go quietly into the night. So she packed up her stuff, and she left me in the middle of the night, slamming all of the doors and banging pots.”

Kaylie took a long pull from her ale without answering. He continued without her input.

“She was the prettiest,” he stopped to hiccup, “girl in our village. She had these freckles across her nose and bright green eyes. My girl, my Melda, my sweet sweet sunbeam. She left me for the big city.”

Emon was one of the largest cities in Tal’dorei; Kaylie wasn’t sure what big city Melda had left for. 

“I’m sorry?” Kaylie said.

The Halfling continued, waving his drink around.

“She wants to be a painter, she wants to paint everything. So she took our life savings, and all of her painting supplies, and she lefted.”

He hiccupped.

“I’ve never been so humiliated,” he said stoically. “Not even when I asked her to marry me and she told me I didn’t have the right to ask her that. In front of my family. My brothers! They didn’t let me live that down, even after I wore her down and convinced her to marry me.”

Kaylie narrowed her eyes. What a shitty thing to do, she thought. Melda, whoever this wild woman was, had given him an answer and he had disregarded it until he had gotten the answer he had wanted. 

“But she made a good wife! She kept our house clean and welcoming! She bathed the kids every night and they were in bed before I got home!”

He was getting louder.

“She left me! And not even for some other man! She left me for the road, for painting! What a coward.”

Kaylie had had enough. She reached forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him towards her. He had started to draw eyes and attention, and Kaylie did not want that that day. She wanted to drink her ale in peace and then return to the Keep. She would send Scanlan a message using her Sending spell, telling him that everything was going great, that she was making good friends with some kids that he would really like. But instead, she was here, listening to some drunken Halfling go on about his wife left him because he was a shitty husband. 

“Listen, guy,” Kaylie hissed. “You’re going to stop shouting about your wife who had every right to leave. She is not your property; she is a fully sentient being who can decide when she has had enough of your bullshit. I’m glad that she’s leaving, and I hoping she took your shitty children with her, because speaking from experience, no dad is better than a shithead like you. Now.”

She pushed him away from her hard.

“I suggest you get the fuck away from me and find a different tavern to drink at, friend.”

There was a moment as the Halfling tried to resist the spell, but most common folk have no resistance to spells. He stood abruptly, stumbling out of the bar with his tankard still in hand. 

Sitting back, Kaylie closed her eyes. She felt a little weary, tapped using so much magic that day.

“That was awesome,” someone nearby said to her. “Nice of someone to finally put Ol’ Terny in his place!”

She looked at them, a halfling of similar build to the man she had just shoved out of the booth. 

“Thanks.”

She threw back the rest of her ale without pause.

“Tell him to stop being a shitty person when you see him next,” she said, and then she dug out a gold piece. “Your next round’s on me.”

She placed it on the halfling’s table and then left, heading for the keep.

* * *

 

Deirdre didn’t look at her for the rest of the week. Tyrell remarked that Kaylie must be some kind of miracle worker to turn Deirdre’s attention away from her, but Kaylie doubted that it was actually some kind of miracle. She had harmed her, had caused actual damage against Deirdre. Kaylie shouldn’t have reacted that way, and she didn’t blame Deirdre’s cold shoulder against her. If it had been Kaylie on the receiving end- well, it would have been a lot uglier of a confrontation. 

Deirdre handed in a full sheet of carefully noted observations that earned them top marks, and they didn’t speak. 

They sat near each other for weeks and never so much as glanced at each other. Kaylie expected some kind of retribution to come for her, some sneak attack from the shadows launched by Deirdre’s lackeys, pig’s blood dumped on her during lunch, or a disgusting rumor to spread about her mother or father. But nothing came. Deirdre was bubbly and bright every day, laughing with her friends, charming the professors, but she turned icy and quiet around Kaylie. Unsurprising. She honestly couldn’t blame her for that. It wasn’t the first time that Kaylie had been shunned and scorned for her actions.

It wasn’t the first time she deserved it, either.

It was the first time that she was started to regret the action that got her here.

“Do you think it was mean that I used Vicious Mockery against Deirdre?” Kaylie asked one afternoon after classes. She and her friends had retired to the keep for studying, sprawled out over plush couches and chairs in the den with books and scrolls open before them. Bubble was sitting in the largest chair, one that was undoubtedly designed for Grog Strongjaw, with her tail curled around her, propping up a book, her eyes darting back and forth. Bubble was a prodigy, the kind of child that would grow up into the scariest kind of adult that Kaylie would inexplicably be drawn to anyway. She didn’t pipe up often, but she was actually extraordinarily intelligent and kind of outrageously hilarious when she did.

Dien, conversely, spoke up often and was not afraid of voicing their opinions. 

“You did what?” Dien asked.

“Okay, it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“It sounds pretty bad.”

“Well, alright, you got me there. But,” she said, pausing for a moment, “she started it.”

“That’s no excuse,” Dien said.

She sighed. 

“I mean, sure, but-”

“Alright, let’s start over. What happened?”

Kaylie took a deep breath, and then she told them. She admitted to her friends that mean, spiteful side that hated being looked down on, that wanted the world to burn for the sake of the fire. She wanted the world to suffer at times, as if it hadn’t enough already in the past few years. 

“Wow,” Bubble said.

“That’s intense,” Tyrell added. “But not unforgiveable.”

“I didn’t say anything about being forgiven,” Kaylie said.

“Well, it certainly was a reaction,” Dien said slowly. 

“That’s not helpful.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting, Kay. I probably would have reacted the same way. But I don’t have the kind of status you do.”

“I don’t give a shit about status.”

It was a lie. It felt like one rolling over her tongue, and it hung in the air between them.

She always knew when her father was lying, his tells too similar to her own to deny. She didn’t realize it at first but the way her voice and his lilted in the same way when they weren’t being truthful hurt sometimes. The ways that they were similar used to light a bright rage in her chest. She saw so much of Scanlan in herself more and more over their year traveling and in Marquet together, and the pain of it began to ebb away. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Dien continued. “You have it. You’re the daughter of Scanlan Shorthalt, savior of Emon and Exandria as a whole. Whether you like it or not, you have a place in history. You have that status that follows you everywhere. Because of that, you would have to be more careful because there’s more expected of you.”

“I don’t want it.”

Dien shrugged.

“Too bad. You’ve got it. Question now is what you are going to do with it?”


	2. Chapter 2

The question followed Kaylie for a while. 

She was trying to do good with her coin; she knew that. It was little things, a few pieces of gold here and there. She tipped waiters who looked bedraggled and exhausted, and she donated to orphanages and paid for her friends when they looked too stressed. Once, when they were struggling, a nice elderly gnome with spectacles and a greying ponytail that swore she was not Kaylie’s grandmother had taken Kaylie out for a new pair of shoes and a hot meal. Sybil had cried herself to sleep that night, and Kaylie had crawled into bed with her mom to comfort her. 

“Oh, my sweet Kaylie,” she had sighed, wrapping her up in a hug. “How was your day?” 

“Why are you crying, Mama?” Kaylie had asked.  

“I want you to grow up and be so strong, my sweet autumn girl. I want you to grow so tall that you can reach the stars and grasp them in your little hands.” 

She had kissed the palms of Kaylie’s hands. 

“I want you to play the world’s favorite song and fall in love with everything you see.” 

She kissed the pads of Kaylie’s fingertips where there were calluses starting to form. She had started to play the violin at the urging of Sybil who worked out a deal with the store owner. Kaylie got to learn how to play violin, and Sybil would pay for lessons and the violin in installments. The store owner, a gruff-voiced, soft-hearted human man named Alesand, had a soft spot for spunky, hard-working gnomes, apparently.  

“I want you to learn how to play the song that speaks to your soul and helps you travel the world. I want you to feel safe on your path, and even when you struggle, I want you to know that there’s light on the other side of that struggle. I want you to know that I will always have your back. I will be the first person cheering you on, your biggest fan. I never want you to doubt that the world is at your feet.” 

She had left soft kisses all over Kaylie’s face like small butterflies landing on her skin, just for a moment.  

“Mama?” Kaylie had said, the first sheepish word from her mouth in all of her years. “Why are you crying?” 

“Because a sweet old lady took you out tonight and did more for you than I ever could,” Sybil had answered, the honesty raw on her face. “I want you to have so much more than you have, and I’m so sorry.” 

It was Kaylie’s turn to kiss her mother’s face softly. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. That’s all I need.” 

Kaylie, alone in Emon, headed for Gilmore’s shop for a little company. She found the human behind the counter, casually flipping through a stack of receipts.  

“Hello again,” Gilmore said without looking up. He didn’t have to, though. She was a gnome after all. “I was wondering when you would get bored of those dullards at the Lyceum.” 

“Hello Gilmore,” she said.  

“What a treat to have you in my store today, Miss Shorthalt. What can I help you with? What can I get you? Are you bored? Are you looking to go adventuring like your father?” 

Kaylie laughed. 

“No, I’m just looking for a familiar face.” 

His face split into a grin. 

“Of course, come, sit.” 

She moved around the counter and climbed up on a stool beside him. He kept sorting through his receipts but their conversation continued. 

“How is the Lyceum, anyway? Exceedingly dull as always?” 

“Kind of, except-” 

“Except?” 

“I kind of, I mean, not kind of, I definitely did.” 

“You did what, child?” 

“I attacked my classmate.” 

He let out a laugh, the kind that anyone would fall in love with. 

“Oh, you are just like your father.” 

That used to make her blood boil. Once, Grog had told her that he hadn’t realized how much she looked like Scanlan, and she threatened to remove his balls from his body. But now, after all this time, after all they’ve been through, after the deaths and the business, the dragons and the gods, she couldn’t find it in herself to hate him, or herself, that much. 

“It’s not my fault. She was beautiful and rich and the perfect kind of snob, and I wanted to take her down a peg.” 

“Well, I mean, you’re also beautiful, and rich, and kind of the perfect kind of snob.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he wasn’t looking at her to appreciate it. 

“Admit it, you are. There’s no way that you aren’t. I know Vox Machina were showered in gifts and riches after their deeds, and there’s pretty much a zero percent chance that your father spared you the same treatment. You might have born into poverty, Kaylie, but you’re practically royalty now, and it’s naïve to think otherwise.” 

“I’m not royalty.” 

“And I know you’re not naïve, either.” He looked up then and found her gaze. “Kaylie, you have been through a lot. That would jade anyone against the world, but you have so much life ahead of you. In fact, you’ll have more life than most of us, speaking from a human’s view at a mere 80 years average. You will grow and learn and become new people that you won’t recognize, and you’ll want to change, and you’ll meet people who will change you. Your father? He was a womanizing scumbag for a while.” 

“Unsurprising,” Kaylie said. 

“But then he met you, and he grew into a better person to be a father worthy of you.” 

Kaylie was quiet, watching him continue sorting through his receipts.  

“Did I drop some sort of major revelation on you?” 

“No, I knew who he was when we met. I just don’t know that I realized how much different he is now.” 

“Yes, well, when we spend so much time with our friends and our family, we rarely see their differences. Same as looking in the mirror. You look at yourself so often you don’t notice when you’ve grown until you look back and you notice the baby fat that’s melted away and the scars that have faded. Same for personalities. We don’t notice when our bad habits become more prevalent, until we’re confronted with our shitty behavior.” 

Kaylie smiled, staring down at her hands then. They had created so much music and joy in her life, and they looked just like her mother’s. It was incredible that her quilter’s hands made instruments sing the way that they did, with all of the practiced skill that made her mother’s quilts so beautiful. She was a blend of Sybil and Scanlan, and sometimes, some days, she was still coming to terms with that after so long feeling like she belonged to neither.  

“Anyway, she was saying some shit about how we’re the same because I paid for my tuition, and I’m not the same as her.” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“Don’t make me hit you too, Gilmore,” she said with no conviction. She was tired. For years, she went through her life tensed for a fight. At any given moment, Kaylie was prepared to defend herself. She was ready to spring in case someone tried anything. As a young adult female gnome, was small, and relatively weak; beyond that she was a girl who was cute in a world filled with tall men with questionable morals. She carried the sword that Scanlan had gifted her because some men didn’t know how to take no for an answer.  

She wanted a break against the onslaught of the world.  

“I would love to see you try,” Gilmore said with a playful smile. “I think that you need to consider that your connection to Scanlan has changed you and your situation. You’re no longer just a girl from Kymal who grew up with a single mother. You’re the daughter of someone important, someone responsible for the safety of the world. That, by extension, makes you different, makes you someone you weren’t before. And that’s not a bad thing. That’s not something vile, or despicable, or something to be ashamed of. It’s just something to think about when you’re looking at the world. It’s from a seat that you’re not used to, and you’re going to have to reacquaint yourself with the view.” 

 

 

* * *

 

The keep became something like a home to Kaylie. Her friends stayed over in the spare rooms more often than not. It became something like a frat house, filled with misfits that came and went at all hours. Bubble, more so than the others, made herself a small nest of blankets in the den and stayed every night.  

“I don’t like my quarters at the Lyceum. The other girls in my dorm call me awful names in a language they think I don’t understand,” she said as explanation one night when Kaylie served her automatically instead of asking if she were staying that night. Kaylie could sense when someone needed a home, needed shelter and comfort. Bubble was already taller than Kaylie, but Kaylie knew that the tiefling needed someone to look after her. And Kaylie, not exactly nurturing, was willing and ready to step up and do that.  

“Well, they can go fuck themselves. They’re missing out,” Kaylie had answered, and sat down for dinner. 

The keep transformed from something empty and cold in the wake of Vox Machina’s departure to bursting with light and color, and warmth. On their weekends, Bubble and Kaylie went out with Kaylie’s coin purse to commission pieces of art to decorate the keep’s halls. Bubble took up a permanent place in the room next to Kaylie’s where a red-skinned dragonborn used to sleep, according to Scanlan.  

“Okay, time to wake up,” Kaylie said one morning, swinging into the tiefling’s room. The air was starting to turn even colder at night and Bubble was buried deep into her comforter. “Kiddo. Hey. Wakey wakey.” 

She sat at Bubble’s side and poked her.  

Her mother used to wake her up the same way. She would come into Kaylie’s room and sit at her bedside, gently shaking her awake. Sybil had the sweetest voice in the morning, a little dry and cracking from sleep. Normally, her mother didn’t come home until the small hours of the morning, and then she would wake Kaylie up for school on very few hours of sleep, if she had slept at all. Sybil brought her quilting home with her after her shifts in order to continue and finish her projects, so often, she would stay awake after her tavern shift in order to get some quilting done. But despite how tired she was, how ragged she was running herself, she always greeted Kaylie sweetly in the morning, reminding her that the world was out there, ready to explore.  

“Hey Bubs,” she said then, poking at Bubble’s cheek and ear, the only part of her face visible from the nest of blankets. Her one visible horn was caught in the blanket as well, the fabric wrapped around the curl and tip of it. “Wake up, kiddo. It’s time to get ready. Breakfast is almost done, and then we’ve gotta head for class. Don’t wanna be late.” 

Bubble grumbled and tucked her face deeper into her pillow. 

“Come on,” Kaylie muttered before she started tickling her side. She cast Mage Hand under the blankets to tickle at Bubble’s hidden tummy, her weakest spot. The girl started to giggle, hiding her face deeper to hide the noise. “Come on, chubby Bubby.” 

“No,” Bubble groaned, her voice breaking. 

“Come on. Time to get up. It’s eggs and bacon time.” 

One solid black eye peeked out from the blanket at her. 

“Bacon?” 

“Get up and there’s a whole plate just for you.” 

Bubble popped out of bed, her nightgown twisted around her awkwardly. Kaylie let out a laugh, watching this kid stumble towards the door with her natural curls flattened from sleep, pillow creases against her cheeks, only one foot socked.  

“Bacon,” she said sleepily, tipping over for a second before she caught herself on the door frame, still half asleep but driven by her stomach. She was ravenous in the morning, and Kaylie followed behind just to make sure that she didn’t tumble down the stairs in her blind path for food.  She wouldn’t put together a full sentence until the end of breakfast, but Kaylie liked her company anyway. 

It was like being with her mom again, sitting in companionable silence. With Dr. Dranzel, he was always talking, telling some bullshit story or another. She loved him, he was like a grandfather to her somehow, but she loved the moments when you could settle in with someone and just enjoy their company. With Scanlan, there were long periods of time where they didn’t talk but that was more out of their own awkwardness. She had tried to kill him. He had broken a promise and had come back to her dead. There was the huge fight with Vox Machina, and then they were on their own. They didn’t know how to talk to one another yet, so they didn’t. Long stretches of time passed without a word between them.  

Being with Bubble was like being with her mother, the familiar warmth of family immediate between them. She could remain quiet and Bubble didn’t ask if she were mad. Bubble felt comfortable talking when she wanted to. That was what Kaylie wanted, to be a safe harbor for the tiefling. If she succeeded nothing else at the Lyceum, at least there was that.  

At the table in the kitchen, Kaylie watched Bubble scarf down her food with a kind of scary furiousness, picking at her own meal in front of her. She wasn’t the best cook, but the food was decent enough. It was just her and Bubble that day. Dien had been communing with nature outside of the city limits as they said they felt less powerful than they should have, and Tyrell was in a bad mood and just wanted to be left alone. Kaylie was sure that meant he had gone to some corner of the library and fall asleep with the books like some kind of narcoleptic hobo wizard.  

 Bubble and the other misfits, they felt like home, and Kaylie was glad to have the warmth of that back in her life.  

 

 

* * *

 

The next time Kaylie saw Deirdre, the elf was covered in mud and crying at the edge of road into Emon. Literally, just all of her, from head to toe was covered in a splattering of thick, clinging layer of mud. It was new and alarming, and Kaylie almost walked past her. Except Deirdre wasn’t crying for attention in the way that Kaylie had expected from a girl like Deirdre. She was ugly crying, curled into herself with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Kaylie stopped, though, despite everything in her that said to keep walking. 

“Deirdre,” she said softly, “are you okay?” 

“Does it fucking look like I’m alright, Shorthalt?” Deirdre snapped, several tears dripping from her eyes and onto the tracks already laid down by their predecessors. Kaylie was fascinated by the way Deirdre’s face was crumpled, the way her serene expression was contorted into something ugly and new. It blew Kaylie away the way that someone could make a face so disconcerting and terrible look so beautiful. “Get away from me.” 

“I’m trying to help. What happened?” 

“It’s none of your business, and I would appreciate if you butt the fuck out.” 

Kaylie laughed and shook her head. 

“Sure, or you could talk to me.” 

“It’s not like you actually give a shit about me, do you? My problems are too  _rich_ for you, aren’t they? Why should I talk to you if you’re just going to throw it back at me? I shouldn’t have problems, should I? I’m too  _rich_  and  _privileged_  to have problems.” 

“I never said that.” 

“You basically did, and I’m sorry I’m-” 

“Why are you covered in mud?” Kaylie asked impatiently.  

“If you must know,” she said, sniffling and wiping her nose with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of mud like a mustache across her upper lip. “My father and I had an argument this morning on the way into the city, and he told me if I didn’t start behaving, he was going to make me get a job to pay for my tuition.” 

Kaylie lifted her eyebrows skeptically. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I know how it sounds, but you should have heard him,” she said, looking at her hands. “It doesn’t matter, though. We have an argument and he told me if I didn’t agree with him, I could walk the rest of the way to the Lyceum, so I got out. And then he made the cart splash me with mud just to be a, a-” 

“A dick?” Kaylie supplied. 

“Yes!” 

“Well, your father sounds like he is a terrible person and you definitely deserve better, even when you’re a terrible person yourself.” 

Deirdre frowned, but didn’t start an argument with Kaylie. She felt a little bad for kicking Deirdre while she was down, but Kaylie wasn’t a nice person.  

“Hold on,” Kaylie said. She reached out with a quick movement of her hand, letting prestidigitation fall over Deirdre. It cleaned the mud away from her skin and clothes, and Deirdre was beautiful again.   

Every time, Kaylie looked at her the breath caught in her throat a little bit. Deirdre really was stunning, that was undeniable. Anyone with eyes could tell that Deirdre was gorgeous. She hated the way that Deirdre had such slender features, from the tip of her elven nose all the way down to the tips of her graceful fingers. There was a rage in Kaylie’s chest just from looking at her. Kaylie was tired of being attracted to people who made her feel this way. 

“There, back to normal,” Kaylie said with a triumphant grin at Deirdre. 

“Thanks,” Deirdre groused. Her expression was sour, the tears dripping down her cheeks still. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.” 

“I’m not going to.” 

She nodded, and then brushed off her pristine skirt. 

“I should get going. I have to get to class.” 

Kaylie nodded then, but paused as Deirdre started to turn. 

“Hey, do you want to skip class with me and maybe, also, just a bonus thought here, piss your dad off in a way that he can’t be mad at you?” 

Deirdre stopped and looked over her shoulder at Kaylie. 

“What do you have in mind?” 

Kaylie grinned. 

“Oh, it’s going to be glorious.” 

 

 

* * *

 

Deirdre was quiet as Kaylie lead them back to the keep. If they were going to be causing mayhem and wreaking havoc in Emon, Kaylie was going to look the part. She was not going to be dressed in her Lyceum uniform of a white blazer over a white skirt. She tried to hide it on the way to the Lyceum, and sometimes, when she was feeling a little bit more feisty, she would dress it up with a little bardic Shorthalt flair much to the dismay and chagrin of her teachers, but if she weren’t at the Lyceum, she was not wearing that disaster zone.  

“What is this place?” Deirdre asked as they passed through the gate of the keep and crossed the front yard to the keep’s door. 

“Greyskull Keep, home to Vox Machina. Well, one of their homes. I think they’re pretty spread out right now,” Kaylie said, pushing the front door open and the great stone doors swung open to reveal the foyer. “I know Keyleth is in Vesrah, and Percy and Vex are in Whitestone, and then there’s Grog, Dad, and Pike, which I think, last time I checked, they might be in Westruun. I don’t know. But, point is, welcome to Greyskull Keep, vacation home to the saviors of Emon, and Exandria.” 

Deirdre gawked at everything around them, from the high, arched ceilings to the artwork decorating the entryway, her mouth hanging open almost despite herself. Kaylie didn’t mention the obvious awestruck look on Deirdre’s face, and Kaylie also didn’t mention that she was staring at Deirdre’s face in order to study the expression. She couldn’t help herself, she was drawn to the elf in some kind of inexplicable way. Kaylie couldn’t be that surprised, she was more into women than she was men at any given point. She wasn’t not attracted to men, but there was just something about women that Kaylie found herself pulled towards them. She wanted to categorize everything she could find out about women, and sing their praises on every stage. She was endlessly curious about them, even though she herself was a woman. It didn’t feel the same, though.  

It didn’t matter, no one cared about her attraction to women over men. Her father, the largest slut in the world, didn’t care. She came back to their small home in Marquet one afternoon, a mark her partner had bit into her neck, and lipstick that was not her shade smeared over her lips. He had grinned at her but said nothing as she crept back to her room.  

“Come on,” Kaylie said and headed for the stairs.  

“So, this is where you live?” 

“Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes, in a castle. Sometimes, in a little basement in Ank’harel. Sometimes, nowhere. Sometimes, on the road.” 

“I don’t understand how you can move around so much. I’ve lived in Emon my entire life, in the same house, in the same room. There’s a comfort in the familiarity.” 

“See, that kind of familiarity and comfort? That would make me anxious. It’s part of the reason Dranzel was able to get me out on the road with him. I was in college in Westruun, and he offered me something greater. I lept at the chance and I’ve been on the move ever since.” 

“So, you and Dranzel, is that something-” she paused long enough that Kaylie looked back to check that she was still there. “Serious, or?” 

“Me and Dranzel? Are you kidding?” 

“I mean, if a guy takes you out on the road, then,” she paused again. 

“I’m not sleeping with Dranzel! Are you kidding? That’s disgusting! He’s like my grandfather! He took my dad on the road, too, when he was younger.” 

“It’s just a bit suspicious, I think,” Dierdre finally said. “An older man taking a young girl out into the world?” 

“You know people can have platonic, and familial relationships without owing anything to each other, without there being anything sexual better them. I would rather gauge my eyes out that ever think of Dranzel that way.” 

She shrugged.  

“Here we are,” Kaylie said, coming to her room. 

She opened the door and stepped in. When she first moved into the keep, she kept everything in a pile by the door, all packed up and ready to go in case she needed to bolt. She was always ready for when stationary life became too much and the road called to her again. She was ready, but she fell in love. She fell in love with Emon. And she fell in love with her friends, and she couldn’t bring herself to leave. With Bubble in the next room, how could she leave this little family she had created? So over the weeks, her stuff spread out over the room. It piled on the desk, filled her wardrobe, tucked itself into the little corners and between furniture. It felt less like a place she was staying, and became her home. 

“This is where the magic happens.” 

She dropped the bag she carried her school supplies in onto her bed and immediately shed her jacket. It was a terrible thing to wear and she tried so hard to not wear it as often as possible.  

“Now, I know the expression is where the magic happens, but not a lot of anything magical happens in here,” Kaylie said. Next, she unbuttoned the skirt she was forced to wear and let it fall to the floor, leaving just her stockings and her blouse behind. “Well, nothing magical has happened in a while, and it’s very hard to find anyone to  _magic_ with when there’s an actual child sleeping next door.” 

Deirdre made an unexpected noise in her throat. Kaylie looked over her shoulder, and the tips of the elf’s pointed ears had gone bright with heat, the same color dancing in her cheeks and down her neck. It was endearing, and Kaylie smiled at her.  

“Oh, sorry,” she said, even though she wasn’t sorry at all. She was a show off; she liked to be watched and looked at. Her mission was to draw the eye, have the attention pulled to her. That was a trait she had definitely gotten from her father. Sybil was not extraordinarily boastful. In fact, in all of her years, Kaylie had never seen Sybil actively stand out from the crowd or attempt to draw someone’s attention to her.  

“What exactly is the plan?”  

Deirdre’s voice broke. Kaylie pretended she didn’t notice, but her ego certainly did. 

“I just hate the uniform. I think Keyleth or Vex might have some clothes left here if you wanted to change too.” 

Deirdre looked down at herself and then at Kaylie as Kaylie dressed in a pair of trousers and then traded the white blouse for something a bit more colorful, a bright teal tunic that she layered with a leather vest.  

“I suppose,” Deirdre said slowly, “I wouldn’t want to look out of place.” 

“Beautiful. Right this way.” 

 

 

* * *

 

“What were you and your dad fighting about, anyway?” Kaylie asked after Deirdre had dressed and met her downstairs at the dining room table. She had a map of Emon spread out before her, and she was inspecting it. Deirdre had changed into Vex’ahlia’s left behind clothes, a pair of pants that fit tight to her legs in a dark silk material, and a dark blue blouse that wasn’t tied up the whole way. She topped that off with a dark jacket with a fur-lining as the weather was starting to turn chillier every day.  

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered quickly. 

“I mean, maybe, but it’s clearly bothering you.” 

“You can’t possibly know that.” 

“Your shoulders are tense,” Kaylie said simply. “And every time you look at me for too long, the little furrow between your eyebrows gets a little deeper. When you’re stressed or upset, your posture gets worse. You slump more, your shoulders hunched forward, and you take these slow, sad steps. It’s obnoxious and endearing.” 

Deirdre was quiet for a while, watching Kaylie who went back to studying the map. It was inexact and outdated, especially since the Chroma Conclave razed the city, but it would do. She needed a vague idea of where they were going, not something exact.  

“Endearing?” 

“What? I’m not allowed to find you charming?” 

“No, you absolutely are, but I just didn’t imagine that you did. Or could.” 

“I’m not a monster. I do have, you know, gnome feelings.” 

“Well, I thought you hated me.” 

“And most days I do but I’m also capable of changing those feelings, especially when you’re crying on the side of the road.” 

“So, you’re being nice to me out of pity?” 

“Does it matter why I’m being nice to you?” 

“Yes! I don’t want to be pitied.” 

“Good gods, you are particular.” 

Kaylie rolled up the map and stood from her chair. She looked at Deirdre, and then looked away. Her expression held such an intense emotion that it felt wrong to experience it without Deirdre’s permission. It was raw and needy, the kind of look that someone who is starved for touch gets in their eyes. 

Kaylie wanted to reach out and run her hand down Deirdre’s arm, to reassure her that the world wasn’t as terrible as it seemed, to ground her in this moment, in this keep, with Kaylie. She wanted to step closer to her and take her hand, and remind her that this moment could be their last and after all the terrible shit, why stress about the smallest shit. Another Chroma Conclave could burst up, another would-be deity could choose Emon next time, the end of the world could come at any moment.  

“Well, let’s get your mind off that,” Kaylie said, changing the subject.  

“Do you have a plan?” 

“No. But that’s the glorious thing, isn’t it? The freedom of choice! You can do anything today! Nothing is going to hold you back! You can buy out all the baked goods from a bakery! You can buy all the art and give it away for no reason but to piss off snobby artists. You can sneak into a play and boo at the terrible singing! Fuck, you can even streak through the central square, shouting about how Pelor sucks celestial dick if you wanted. Freedom! The reason we’re on this planet! The reason we were given free will and individual thought!” 

Deirdre shook her head without responding. 

“Look, that’s the plan for today. No plans. We’re just going to go out into Emon and follow where our feet take us.” 

“I don’t know,” Deirdre said quietly.  

“Hey,” Kaylie said softly, reaching out finally and grabbing Deirdre by the pinky, her small hand wrapping around the digit lightly. “Trust me. We’re not gonna get in trouble or anything. I’ve been to jail before, and I’m not going back if I can help it.” 

“Who are you?” Deirdre asked in awe, looking at her.  

“Kaylie Shorthalt,” she said, and it came out with an air of pride that she didn’t expect. It hit her all at once and she had to keep herself from staggering under the weight of it. She meant it. That’s what landed so heavily, tucking itself deep into her chest. She was proud, she was excited, she wanted the world to know.  

She was a  _Shorthalt_.  

 

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Kaylie got Deirdre to agree to her non-plan. Together, they set out for Emon with Kaylie’s coin purse at the ready.  

“So, close your eyes.” Kaylie said at the edge of the city. “Trust me.” 

Deirdre sighed, but closed her eyes. 

“Now, just take a minute. Breathe in the fall morning air. Listen to the sounds of the city. Hear that music of life around you. Just live in this moment, in this space at the edge of your home.” She let the next moment pass in quiet, and then she said, “What do you want to do?” 

“I want to see the art gallery.” 

“Perfect! Which one?” 

Deirdre’s face flushed and she looked down at her feet. 

“I have a hunch,” Kaylie said, and then she set out confidently. She didn’t wait to see if Deirdre followed, walking down the street towards the gallery she had walked by once on a late night stroll through Emon. 

It used to scare her, the city’s streets at night, the thought of being unable to defend herself against advances and attacks. When she first went out with Dranzel and the troupe, she was scared out there by herself. But now? She left the keep without worrying, without armor, without defense. She was a weapon by herself, even without an instrument. She was the scariest thing on those streets, and she wasn’t going to let some pea-brain chuckle fuck who thought too highly of himself change her mind. There was nothing that was in those streets, hiding in the shadows that could scare her now. She had seen it all; from the Nine Hells and back again, Kaylie wouldn’t be surprised at anything anymore.  

“How long have you been in Emon?” Deirdre asked, keeping pace at Kaylie’s side. It wasn’t hard for the elf, Kaylie was sure, but Kaylie had such short, stubby legs for a gnome. She wasn’t considered short in my own community of gnomes, but out in the world, where people like Grog existed, where goliaths could trample her without blinking, she was too little in the world.  

“Not long. Couple of days before the start of the semester, honestly. But I’ve stayed here before.” 

“What brought you here?” 

“The music. Dranzel and the troupe, we followed the taverns willing to give us a stage and a room. We didn’t care where we were going, just that we were. Adventure for the sake of it. You ever done that, Deirdre?” 

“What?” 

“Adventure, going someplace just to go there, to see it? Just for the sake for getting out of the house and on the road?” 

“No, we didn’t really go anywhere, you know? We stay at home and better ourselves,” Deirdre answered. “We read, and we paint, and we learn, and we strive to become more powerful.” 

“What’s the point of all that power if you never use it? If you never show off? What’s the point of learning if you don’t put that knowledge into practice? You can read all you want about music theory, but until you actually pick up a violin, you’re not going to understand how to play, you’re not going to know the pure bliss and exhilaration of putting a bow to strings and drawing music from nothing.” 

She was quiet, taking it all in. 

“My father always said that there wasn’t anything that you couldn’t find in a book.” 

Kaylie huffed and climbed up on a barrel outside of a tavern.  

“Come here.” 

Deirdre stepped towards her cautiously, and Kaylie pulled her in gently.  

“You can’t find this in a book, Deirdre Lemon.” 

And then, Kaylie kissed her. It was soft, a bare brushing of their lips, trading each other’s air for a moment. And then, it was over. 

“What did you do that for?” Deirdre asked, daze in her eyes.  

“For the sake of it,” Kaylie said, and she hopped down. “Isn’t it exciting? Living? Being in the world and just doing whatever you want?” 

“Oh. So,” Deirdre said quietly. “You kissed me because you wanted to?” 

“Well, I didn’t kiss you because I didn’t want to,” Kaylie said with a chuckle before she kept walking. “Did it make you uncomfortable? I won’t do it again.” 

“Yes. Please. Don’t.” She said it haltingly, her voice stuttering in her throat.  

Kaylie swallowed the lump in her own throat, and suddenly the self-assured way she had hopped up and kissed Deirdre felt wrong, tainted. It felt like she had taken something from Deirdre. 

“Well, you never know unless you try,” she said. She kept walking. 

 

 

* * *

 

The art gallery that Deirdre had mentioned was on the opposite side of town from the Keep. It had sprung up after the Chroma Conclave, a direct reaction to the devastation that had found the city and the loss and grief following. It was a celebration of life, though. It was a celebration of what it meant to be alive after such an attack, and what it meant to be a survivor. People were encouraged to express themselves about anything to do with the Conclave, and submissions to the gallery were open to the public. The halls were filled with artist renderings of Thordak and the other dragons that had descended, but there were other things, too. Some people honored those lost in the fall by submitting portraits. There were paintings of Emon, of the Tal'dorei family, of the shops and streets that had changed since then. There were portraits, inexact but still beautiful, of Vox Machina in battle. There was an entire wall dedicated to the small and every day, a love letter to a life forever changed. Kaylie went there sometimes, not because she had lived through the fall of Emon – no, they had left before that, but because she had lived through Vecna and it felt similar. Life had changed since then for everyone, the face of evil and destruction having bared down on them.  

They passed the images of Vox Machina, although Kaylie paused at one particularly visceral image of her father covered in blood and wounds. She missed him. Deirdre, wide-eyed, carefully studied every collection.  

“Father never let me come here,” she said. “He said that it was like picking at a wound; it’s never going to heal if we built a vigil for that time.” 

“I don’t agree with that,” Kaylie answered. “This is cathartic. Have you ever created something artistic, Deirdre?” 

“Well, no.” 

“Creating is releasing all of the emotions you’ve kept pent up inside yourself, your trauma flooding out with your words or your colors. Look at this one.” 

She pointed at a large work of a girl in a simple dress carrying a basket of flowers, a looming red dragon massive in the sky behind her. 

“This is the moment when this artist’s life changed. The last moment of peace in Emon, the last moment of innocence in this artist’s life. You can see it in her eyes, here. And the artist chose this moment, this snapshot, out of everything for a reason. This moment meant a lot to them. Look at the love and care in the brush strokes, the meticulousness of the shadows and highlights. There is such emotion in this one moment in time captured forever for generations to say.” 

“I don’t see it. It’s just colors.” 

“Now you’re just being obstinate.  _Look_ at it, Lemon. Live in this moment. Imagine you’re that girl, walking with your basket of flowers on just another day, and then everything is different.” 

“I don’t have to imagine it, Kaylie. I was there. I lived in this city when the dragons came.” 

“Just look at it.” 

Deirdre sighed and turned to look at it. Kaylie stepped back and let her have her moment with it. She returned to the renderings of Vox Machina, unable to stop herself from finding her father in every one. Her favorite, though, was of Grog with everyone hanging off of him somehow. Her father and Pike were sitting in each of his hands while he flexed, Vex and Vax dangling easily from his biceps like acrobats, and Percy and Keyleth sat on his shoulders. He was grinning; everyone was grinning. It was a triumphant pose, and the group looked as if they could take on the world.  

Seeing Vax opposite his twin, dangling near his love, hurt in a way she couldn’t expect. She hadn’t known him that well, but he had somehow felt like an uncle she’d never had. 

Saying a quick prayer to the Raven Queen in hopes that he’d hear it and know that someone was thinking of him, she moved to the end of the wall. This is where there was a solo portrait of her father, his silhouette against dragon fire. He was too short, his proportions too small even for a gnome, and there something missing about his form that Kaylie couldn’t identify. It still made Kaylie feel that warmth that she felt every time she saw him.  

She missed him. 

 Kaylie stopped, looking around at the other patrons, and carefully cast Sending to her father. 

“Hey Dad, I’m just checking in. I’m at the gallery celebrating Emon following the Conclave and I just thought I’d let you know I’m okay.”  

25 words exactly. 

Immediately, she could hear her father’s voice in her head. 

“Kaylie! It’s good to hear from you! I’m glad you’re okay. Pike, Grog, and I are headed to Westruun if you need anything. I love-” 

It cut off there, but she knew what he meant. She felt it, too.  

There was once when Kaylie actively hated her father, that she wished he didn’t exist. It took a lot of self-loathing and anger to wish that half of the reason for your creation didn’t exist. For years, she just wished he was around because her mother spoke so nicely of him. Sybil promised that he would be back, that he would realize what he was missing and he could come through their door at any time. Sybil explained that some people needed to go on a journey, and sometimes, that journey took a while, but at the end, they would realize what they needed and they would come running back to whatever that was. She had promised Kaylie that her dad would come back to them once he finished his journey. 

Kaylie had lived on that for years same as her mother, but unlike Sybil, Kaylie’s hope had soured. She felt betrayed, and hurt. That hope turned into something ugly in her chest, weighing her down and waiting patiently. She wanted to tear something apart, especially something gnomish that looked back at her in the mirror every day. Somehow, deep inside of her, the hurt and betrayal turned to hate and anger.  

She still remembered the moment when Kaylie realized who her father was,  _what_  her father was, remembered it so vividly. She heard her mother late at night when she was supposed to be asleep; she was about six years old and she would be starting school soon. That night, Sybil had been quieter as she tucked Kaylie in to bed and smoothed her wild hair. 

“My sweet girl,” she had cooed, and pressed a kiss into Kaylie’s forehead. “Do you know the story of the Bird and the Bard?” 

Kaylie had, but she shook her head just to hear her mother tell the story again. It was Sybil’s favorite story to tell, and Kaylie’s favorite story to listen to.  

“Well, once upon a time, there lived a bard. Now, don’t be fooled, Kaylie, this wasn’t just any bard. He was the world’s greatest storyteller. He traveled, singing his songs in every town that would welcome him. You see, the bard, he could never sit still, always on the move. He wanted to see everything the world had to offer. He was free to do so, a leaf blowing on the wind from town to town all throughout Exandria.” 

Sybil never named him, but Kaylie knew this was her father. 

“One day, he blew into town on the southern winds where there lived a little bird. She was quiet, and didn’t know how to sing. She loved to fly and soar through the skies, that was her favorite thing, to see all the big people look so small in the fields below while she soared high above. The bird took interest in the bard, a new face among her small-town sights. And the bard, well, he found the bird intriguing as well. There was something shy about her that made the bard want to get inside her defenses and peel back her layers until he found her tender heart. The bard sang to her one afternoon while she was flying between the trees, entrancing her and drawing her to him. She sat on a branch and watched the bard, his fingers carefully drawing from the lute the song her heart had been singing her entire life. She felt lighter, she felt buoyant in the air, she felt  _free_.” 

That was Kaylie’s favorite part, the line about the bard singing the bird’s heart song. 

“The bird who had never trilled in her life finally found the courage to sing loudly the song she had been too scared to sing before. The bard played along with her, harmonizing and letting her voice stand out in the trees. When their song ended, the bird flew down and landed in the bard’s hands.  

“What a beautiful bird, the bard said. What a beautiful song. 

“The bird was flattered, and felt herself falling in love with the bard. But she remembered what her mother told her when she was young. Be careful, little bird, she had said, be careful with your heart, do not give it away so easily. 

“She wanted to fall deeply in love with him, to give herself entirely, to fall so far into him that she couldn’t find her way back out. She wanted that kind of love, that kind of give-in love that she’d dreamt about for years. But her mother had been so adamant that the bird almost let him slip away. She hesitated, and the bard saw her hesitation as rejection. You see, the bard boasted about himself and his exploits, he talked himself up so often that no one questioned that maybe the bard was a scared little bird inside, too. He fled from the bird, scared that the one thing he had grown to love had somehow not loved him back the whole time. What flaws did she see in him? What truths? He fled to the next town, carrying his wounded pride like a child against his chest. The bird sang for him as he disappeared into the distance. She sang her song every day, hoping he might come back to her, that he might hear that song and realize that her hesitation was out of self-doubt and inexperience. She loved him so deeply that she prayed her song would stretch out across the land of Exandria and grace his ears once more. 

“She would rise before the sun every morning and fly to the top of the tallest tree just outside of town. She would gather her courage, screw it to the sticking place, and sing him a song. She didn’t know if he would ever hear her, but she kept singing. She kept singing for him, for the love that they had shared, and the love that could continue to grow if he returned to her. She prayed that the gods would carry her song to him, and if they gifted her with that, she would pray and praise their name every day.” 

She would always pause here, as if to give weight to the bird’s singing, as if to show Kaylie how much the bird meant it.  

“And then, one day, a year later, the bird heard the sound of her own song echoed back at her from below. She was almost too afraid to look. What if it wasn’t him? But when she looked, there he was. Her bard. Her beautiful, talented bard with a lute of gold. She flew down to him and landed in his outstretched hands. 

“I’m sorry, he said to her. I doubted your love in me, and I doubted myself. I thought you could never love me the same way I loved you, and I ran. I’m sorry, my love, and I hope you can forgive me. 

“He went on to explain that he had been all over the globe, traveling to the farthest reaches east and back, from the top of the tallest mountain to the bottom of the deepest dungeon, and all across the world, the bard had only had one name in his heart. He could hear her song in his dreams, as if a siren calling him home. He couldn’t deny it any longer and he turned around, and returned to her. She told him about her year without him, of the song she sang every day, of the nights she had stayed up in the tree, waiting for him. He swore to her then that he would never leave her again, and she promised she would always be there if he did. And then, they lived happily ever after.” 

She had kissed Kaylie on the forehead, wished her goodnight, and gone to bed herself. Kaylie, though, as usual, was wide awake and ready to explore. She waited until she heard the click of her mother’s door before she climbed out of bed and headed for the kitchen. Kaylie was ready for mischief, and where there was food, there was an opportunity for adventure. Passing her mom’s room, though, she heard the strangest sound. Her mother was  _crying_.   

She stood outside of the door, listening for a while. There was something frozen inside of her, waiting to hear her mother settle down, but she didn’t. She sobbed into the quiet of their home and there wasn’t anything that Kaylie could do to help. Tentatively, Kaylie opened the door to her mother’s room. 

“Mama?” she asked, taking quick steps to cross the floor. “Mama, I-” 

Sybil looked up at Kaylie in the light streaming from the living room, and her eyes were puffy and red.  

“Mama, can I sleep with you tonight?” Kaylie asked.  

“Oh, baby. Of course.” 

Kaylie had climbed up into the bed and laid down facing her mom. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“Oh. I, uhm, I just miss your dad.” 

It hadn’t occurred to Kaylie until then that Sybil had complicated emotions about her father, that maybe not everything about her father was good. She had grown up listening to the Bird and the Bard, a love story for Scanlan Shorthalt from her mother, and she hadn’t stopped to consider that maybe this wasn’t a fairy tale that was going to end with him returning to them. This was when the realization that would form the rest of her life began, this realization that Scanlan Shorthalt, the bard from her mother’s story, wasn’t going to come back to them just because her mother prayed hard enough for the gods to hear.   

“I love you,” Kaylie had said then to her mother, just to see her smile again through her tears.  

“I love you, too.” 

Standing in the gallery, she forced herself away from the portrait of her father and back to Deirdre who had tears tracking down her cheeks.  

“I hate it,” she whimpered, her hand covering her mouth but Kaylie could still see the wobble of her chin. “It was so scary here. Everything was on fire. Nothing was safe. We were under its control for weeks, and the fucking heralded saviors of Emon fled! They tucked tail and ran, and took care of every other fucking dragon in Exandria before coming home and helping  _us_. So many people died in that attack and the following weeks. It was hell in this city.” 

She was crying so hard that Kaylie could hear her breath starting to catch unevenly. Kaylie reached out and took Deirdre’s wrist, guiding her into the center where there was a bench. Deirdre sat and then curled into herself until she was doubled up.  

“My mom died in the attack. She was at the Tal’dorei announcement; she died because of those scaled fucks, and Vox Machina could have saved her but-” 

Kaylie could hear the edge of panic in Deirdre’s voice as she couldn’t get a breath. 

“Hey, relax. It’s okay. It’s over now.” 

She took Deirdre’s hands in her own and cast, out of desperation and panic of her own, Healing Word. She wasn’t injured, she wasn’t hurt, and Kaylie wasn’t sure it was going to work. 

“I want to tell you a story,” Kaylie said, “about a bird and a bard.” 

 

 

* * *

 

After the gallery, Kaylie lead them to the Laughing Lamia. She waved to the barkeep to bring them two ales, and then settled at the table in the corner. Deirdre looked around nervously. 

“If my dad knew I was here, he’d kill me,” Deirdre said. 

“He’d have to go through me first.” 

Deirdre looked surprised at that, but settled into her chair a little easier. 

“Is that story true?”  

“What?” 

“The Bird and the Bard? Is that a true story?” 

“It’s true enough,” she answered with a shrug. “My father isn’t a gallant fairy tale hero or anything, and my parents didn’t live happily ever after. It was just me and Mom for my entire childhood, since my father left before he knew I existed.” 

“Really?” 

“He was young when I was born, barely even an adult in gnome years, you know? He had no business being a father, but I guess you could say the same about my mother. But he left, and it was me and my mom, and she wanted me to love a man who was absent so she told me this story about him and how he would return one day. That part never came true, but the part about them falling in love? That’s what my mom believed, so it’s true to her.” 

“That’s not how the truth works.” 

“The truth is subjective.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Okay, hold on.” She pulled a piece of gold from her pocket and quickly called up a minor illusion spell to shape the gold coin into a pocket watch. Setting it on the table between them, Kaylie said, “what is that?” 

“It’s a watch.” 

“Yes, but it’s also not.” 

“Okay?” 

“You are seeing it as a watch, which is not incorrect. To you, that is true. That is your truth. Now, what I know about this watch is different, that it is in fact not a watch at all.” 

She dropped the spell and the watch fell away to reveal the gold piece below. 

“My truth is that the watch was a gold coin all along.” 

“Okay, but –” she started. 

“No. You saw and you believed it was a pocket watch. That’s the truth. I saw and believed it was a gold coin that was spelled to look like a pocket watch.” 

“Only one of us is right.” 

“We’re not talking about right, we’re talking about truth.” 

“That’s an awful pedantic stance, don’t you think? At what point do you see right and truth not being the same anymore?” 

“Right is morality,” Kaylie said, smiling at the barkeep who brought their drinks by. She placed the gold coin from the table into his hand and told him to keep the change. “Truth isn’t about morality, about good and evil. The truth doesn’t care what you think fits into good versus evil. It’s about the world and what you believe it is based on your experiences and your knowledge.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Okay, what is truth then?” 

“It’s what is in line with fact and reality.” 

“Or it’s the fact and belief that is accepted as true.” 

She groaned. 

“You sound like Master Tember,” Deirdre informed her.  

“Maybe, but that crazy old man is on to something in lecture.” 

“Now you’re just being contrary.” 

“I’m not.” 

Deirdre rolled her eyes, and it was the most charming eye roll Kaylie had ever seen. Kaylie stopped to examine Deirdre’s face while she took a drink from the ale. Deirdre’s face scrunched up and she pulled the cup away from her mouth, a drop of the frothy head falling onto her lower lip. Kaylie forced herself not to stare, but it was very hard not to. 

“Why do you drink this?” Deirdre asked. 

“Because it’s good.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Now who’s being contrary?” Kaylie countered. “Here, I’ll grab you something else.” 

“You don’t have to,” Deirdre said. “I haven’t really found anything that I like yet anyway.” 

“I have an idea. Have you had wine?” 

“Too vinegary.” 

“You don’t like ale, or wine. How about liquor?” 

“Too strong.” 

“Okay, stay here.” 

She hopped down off of the seat and headed over for the bar.  

“What can I help you with, Kaylie?” the barkeep asked. 

“A cider, please. Make it spiced and strong.” 

“Aye,” he said and went about making the drink. It was mostly empty in the tavern just then, most people still working for the day. There was a drunk elf in the corner with his head tipped back, snoring lightly with his mouth open, a few strands of his silvery hair stuck to his tongue. Behind her, Kaylie could see a dwarf nursing a tankard of ale that was as big as his head. “Who’s that pretty girl you have with you, Shorthalt? Never seen her around before.” 

“Eyes to yourself, Dern. She’s not interested.” 

“Alright, alright, just thought I’d ask. We don’t normally get anything that pretty in here no more, not since Vox Machina moved from Emon. God, I miss looking at Antlers.” 

“That’s the Voice of the Tempest you’re talking about.” 

“Aye, and she’s beautiful.” 

Kaylie laughed and put another gold down for him as he passed her the pint glass of cider, a deep amber color that danced in the firelight.  

“You’re a good guy, Dern. Always a pleasure drinking here.” 

“Good to hear that, lass. Am sure glad to have you around. You make this ol’ bar a little brighter. Come back Friday and grace us with a song, will ya?” 

“I will, if you let me drink for free.” 

“If I can advertise that we’re going to be graced with the presence of Kaylie Shorthalt.” 

She grinned at him. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Dern, but I’d be honored to play a few songs for you.” 

He grinned back, and she headed back to the table with Deirdre’s cider and something to look forward to at the end of the week. She already was drawing up the idea of how to plan her set, and whether she would invite her friends. Bubble would love it; the kid was hungry for experiences and entertainment. Tyrell might be too busy studying, but Dien would go for the ale and to watch over Bubble while Kaylie was on stage. Would Deirdre? 

“Here, try this,” Kaylie said, passing the drink over to her companion. “Think that might suit you better.” 

She didn’t realize that she had started thinking of Deirdre as a friend. There was something about watching someone break down and cry that changed how you looked at them. It humanized them in a way that let your defenses down. Their softness, the weakness in their eyes, it put them in a light you weren’t expecting. Kaylie wasn’t expecting to like Deirdre. Before, she had wanted to do all manner of dirty things to Deirdre. But now, she just wanted to talk to her and discuss the difference between right and truth. She wanted to learn about Deirdre Lemon, learn everything possible.  

“That’s damn good,” Deirdre said, setting her drink down next to the ale gently. It barely made a sound against the wooden table. “That is definitely more my speed. What is this?” 

“Cider. Dern makes it himself from a shipment of apples from up near Whitestone. He ferments apples and then makes it to order.” 

“How’d you find this place?” 

“It’s a tavern in Emon. I’ve been to every tavern in Emon. I have a particular fondness for tavern keepers and tavern keepers have a particular fondness for musicians like myself.” 

“Because you bring in coin?” 

“Basically. I’m a good attention draw, and when there’s attention in the bar, there’s drunks spending their pay. A good way to have a busy night is to announce that they’ll have live music. It’s why the troupe got to stay so many places for so cheap. What the bar was losing in room fare, they were more than gaining in tips and drink sales. It’s a good system. Keeps us warm and fed and drunk.” 

“I’m not sure I could ever do that.” 

“What?” 

“Not know where I’m going to sleep or what I’m going to eat that night. Why would you choose that?” 

“It’s the tradeoff for being free and on the road.” 

“I like knowing where I’m going, and where I’ve been. I’ve never left Emon, even, but that’s okay. There’s so much to see just in the city, I can’t imagine I’d ever be able to explore it all.” 

“Why not?” 

“What?” 

“Why haven’t you been traveling? Is it a father thing?” 

“A little bit. He’s always been a bit agoraphobic, and he barely leaves the house unless he has to. When he goes into town, he goes straight into the store or the building. He doesn’t stop to look at anything. I imagine he would be terrible to travel with.” 

“But do you want to?” 

“I would like to,” she admitted, taking a drink from her cider. A small warm smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I’ve always dreamt of seeing Marquet.” 

“You would like it. Ank’harel itself is beautiful. The Suncut Bazaar is my favorite place. There’s so much culture and life there. You can go every day and never see the same thing twice.” 

“You’ve been?” Deirdre asked, a tone of surprise in her voice. 

“We lived there for a year.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, my dad and I traveled after the dragons were defeated. He had died, and there was a fight, so we left. We left Whitestone and headed to take care of some business, and then just kind of stayed in Ank’harel.” 

“That is amazing. What was it like?” 

“Hot, honestly. But so good. It was like being limitless. There was so much to do, and so much to see, and no one cared who you were. We were able to run our business and still be who we wanted to be outside of our shop. There were so many new things to explore, culture everywhere. Their food, oh my god, their food is to die for. If you like spice, Ank’harel is for you. If you like the heat and hate ever being cool, you would love it in Marquet.” 

“I’ve read so many books about Marquet. Is it true that there’s a dragon that watches over the city?” 

“Yeah! They're a chill ass motherfucker.” 

“Who the fuck  _are_ you?” Deirdre asked.  

“I’m the daughter of Scanlan Shorthalt,” Kaylie answered with a grin.  

 

 

* * *

 

That night, Kaylie walked Deirdre all the way home and stopped outside of her large house. It was an opulent manor like what Scanlan’s mansion might look like from the outside if it wasn’t in a pocket dimension.  

“This is where you grew up?” 

“Yes. It’s just a little something,” Deirdre said. 

“Your house is huge. I’m pretty sure I could fit my house in your front entryway,” Kaylie said. “Your house could eat my house, like snacking on a pretzel or something. I live in a whole keep now, like a large military keep, and your house could still have a light lunch on my entire keep. What the fuck does your dad do?” 

“My mom, actually, was an heiress to this famous ale brewery? I don’t really know, she didn’t talk about her family much. She wasn’t fond of them.” 

Kaylie looked up at the house, the gate surrounding it in the dense cluster of trees, the dark stone walls, its almost terrifying intimidation in the fields outside of the city. It looked like it should belong in the Cloudtop District, if it would have fit. 

“There’s a huge brewery out back,” Deirdre said, pointing behind the house to several large buildings. “I was never allowed to go back there as a child. Mom said it was too dangerous for me, and then, I just lost interest.” 

“Really? I’d be dying to go in! I would have gone in the first time she told me no.” 

“I actually listen to my parents,” Deirdre replied with a teasing tone. 

“Well, you know what they say. Play by the rules, and you’re gonna miss all the fun.” 

Deirdre smiled at her, and then froze, her eyes darting up the house. Kaylie followed her gaze, and found a face peered at them from a front window, pale but with similar features.  

“I should go.” 

She headed inside, hurrying away from Kaylie. 

“Will I see you at school tomorrow?” Kaylie called as Deirdre let herself inside the first gate. 

“Yes. I wouldn’t mind class for anything,” Deirdre said. 

“Okay, well, thanks for helping me out. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

She backed away, keeping her eyes on Deirdre as she headed for the door. They both paused for a moment, catching each other’s gazes while Deirdre fiddled with the handle. 

“Thank you, Kaylie. Today meant a lot to me. I hope we can do this again.” 

And then, Deirdre slipped inside and shut the door between them. 

 

 

* * *

 

Kaylie walked home in silence with just her thoughts to keep her company, not that they weren’t plenty enough company. She couldn’t imagine being under someone’s thumb like that, the way that Deirdre was to her parents. If Scanlan had ever tried to give her that kind of look, he’d have lost an eyeball. He would wear the scar on his cheek for the rest of his life, and that was enough for her. That was enough for him, too. Even when she was growing up, Sybil couldn’t really tame her. She was a wild thing, not meant to be broken, and she wasn’t going to let anyone, or anything, tame her into submission. She wouldn’t allow it. 

Her mother, Ioun bless her, was a push over and Kaylie, a spirit meant for the road, had taken advantage of that in her youth. When Sybil was home, Kaylie was using her mother’s absence as leverage to get what she wanted, and when Sybil was gone, Kaylie was throwing fits about her mother being gone all the time. She hadn’t been a good child, and she hadn’t really grown into a good adult either. She was trying, but she had a penchant for thievery and deceit over kindness and honesty.  

Again, you didn’t actively plan to murder a man that you had never met before without some kind of darkness in your soul. She’s not actually sure when that plan formed. It was somewhere on the road, sleeping in taverns next to her troupe, listening to Dranzel talk about Scanlan Shorthalt and the adventures they had had. It was somewhere between the realization that her father had had a raucous time out on his own while her mother struggled every day to take care of her and the first time that she laid eyes on him in the Diamond Nest tavern. It was somewhere between the first time her mother told someone who was interested in marrying her that her heart was already spoken for and the first time Scanlan had flirted with her.  

She wasn’t even entirely sure that she was going to go through with it until they were walking up to his room in the keep that night, and she felt herself itching to pull out the dagger. But there was something about Scanlan baring his chest to her so that she could plunge the dagger into him that stopped her.  

It was that sacrificing kind of love that she had always heard about, putting them before yourself so that they may live better lives.  

She still hated him, that kind of deep-seated emotion didn’t fade quickly. It took work and weeks of getting to know him, of having no one but him to talk to, of having to depend on him, and still sometimes, she hated him a little bit some days more than on others. She hated the glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, the face of her father shown in her own.  

Her mother used to brush out her hair when she was young, before Kaylie was old enough to hack away at her hair to make it shorter with the kitchen shears. She would sit Kaylie in front of the mirror in Sybil’s room and delicately pull the brush through her hair. Sometimes, she would tell Kaylie stories. Most times, though, she would smile fondly at Kaylie’s reflection and say, “You look just like him, my autumn girl. You look more and more like him every day.” 

How could someone so insignificant in Kaylie’s life leave such a mark on her? How could someone who didn’t love her enough to stick around for her childhood dare leave himself inside of her like this? She seethed at the idea of her face not being her own but this stranger’s, this faceless nobody who had twisted her mother up so much. She put on a brace face and smiled for her mother, but she hated him deep inside. She wanted to scream so loud it broke the mirror and shattered her reflection. She never wanted to see him in her eyes and chin and nose ever again.  

But she kept seeing him. He was inescapable. He was always in her songs, in her eyes, in the curve of her mouth when she smirked. The first time she saw him, she understood what her mother had always gone on about. They  _did_ look just alike, to an almost frightening degree. Someone had been out there with her face this entire time. She saw it in the way Scanlan leapt onto the stage and took up his flute beside her. She saw it in the way that he had started to play, even his motions between notes familiar. How could they have been so far apart and yet Kaylie couldn’t fight his mannerisms? How was it possible to have never have met this man but feel this kind of unbreakable kinship between them? It was deeper than blood, stronger than time, and unwavering in a way that would frighten anyone faced with it. 

It helped when she took his coin purse of over two thousand gold pieces. She couldn’t deny that. Of course, she would be the first to admit that she wasn’t a good person, but she could definitely consider it with a pocket hefted down with that kind of weight. 

 

 

* * *

 

The next day, Kaylie rose for class with a spring in her step, a bounce in her routine. She woke Bubble up with a song, a lilting melody full of hope and joy looking forward. The day looked bright, the sun shining through soft fluffy clouds, the most unusual kind of weather for late autumn. It was her birthday, and she was going to enjoy this day even if it killed her. She didn’t like to make a huge deal of her birthday, not the way her mother did, but it was a day where she did some extra good in the world and treated herself a little bit more than normal. Her last birthday was spent in Ank’harel, and she had wandered outside of the business district and into the poorer side of town. She had dropped coins in people’s pockets with all the stealth she could manage, a reverse pick-pocket with a vendetta against poverty. In addition to that bit of charity, she had also found the over-crowded orphanage full of scrawny, dirty children and had brought them all little toys and trinkets from the Suncut Bazaar. 

“You know, I always wanted something like this growing up,” she said to a half-orc child who was already taller than her. “But we always had to cut corners. I always said that when I grew up, I’d be kind and gentle. I’m not.” 

This made the children around her laugh and giggle. 

“But we’re all capable of being something better than our background, right? Something more than what we were born and raised to be.” 

The half-orc, Sehilah, had nodded fervently. 

“I want you to do something for me, though.” The kids around her, clustered around the toys and the new face, all sat up to attention. “I want you to do one good and kind thing for someone today. Maybe you’ll let somebody have the last of the pudding for dinner, or you’ll let them play with your toy without asking them for theirs. Just one thing. Just to see them smile because you did something for them without asking anything from them in return. Can you do that for me?” 

They had all nodded.  

“Good. Now, who wants to play Adventurers and Goblins?”  

The kids had cheered and immediately chose their teams, half siding with the Adventurers, and the other half with the Goblins, dividing and heading towards opposite ends of their large playroom. Kaylie had headed for the Goblins side. She hadn’t felt much like a hero most days. She still didn’t. 

Her birthday was different, though. It marked another year with the chance to do better, be better, become something new. She saw it as an opportunity to start fresh. Her mother had always said that what you did on your birthday, you would spend the rest of the year doing and had encouraged Kaylie to do good on her special day. 

“If nothing else,” Sybil said, brushing Kaylie’s hair out for the day before braiding it carefully, “you’ll at least have one very good day in the eyes of the world.” 

Kaylie had loved the smile her mother would give her in the mirror.  

“Come on, Bubble,” she rushed the child out of the keep after breakfast. It took a bit of a walk to get the Lyceum and she wanted to stop by a bakery and buy the group some birthday baked goods before the first bell was rung. “If you hurry, I’ll let you pick out an extra goodie for yourself.” 

“What’s the occasion?” 

“It’s my birthday,” Kaylie said with a shrug. 

“It is? Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“It’s not a big deal. I didn’t want a big thing.” 

“Hold on. Excuse me.” 

Bubble paused for a moment behind Kaylie, but Kaylie already knew she had the copper wire out and sending a message to Dien and Tyrell about Kaylie’s birthday. She kept walking, though, because she knew Bubble would catch up. Bubble was a child, that’s true, but she was already as tall, and growing taller, than Kaylie. Soon, Kaylie would have to look up to see the tiefling’s eyes. She didn’t like that idea at all. It’s not that she minded being a gnome, but it was hard being a gnome out in the world where everyone else was just so damn tall. Everything was built for humans and elves. There wasn’t a lot of things outside of a gnome or halfling specific community built just their size. Dien had expressed their complaints about the same thing a few weeks before when they were trying to get something off the shelf in the Lyceum’s archive. It had been Kaylie and Dien alone, and in order to reach, they eventually had to stand on Kaylie’s shoulders to reach it. It had been humiliating, but at least it had been a mutual humiliation. 

“Why is your birthday not a big deal? You’re older now! You’re closer to, you know- I actually don’t know how gnomes age, so I don’t know if you’re an adult or not.” 

“I’m 21 years old today,” Kaylie said. “Gnomes reach maturity at 40 or so, and can live up to 500 years old.” 

“You’re a baby!” Bubble said. “I thought you were old like Tyrell.” 

“Do I look old?” 

“No, but you also aren’t a human or anything. You don’t age like I do. In all honesty, I think every gnome is an adult.” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” Kaylie said. “Although, most people think we’re children if they’re not paying attention, we’re so small.” 

“That’s not very nice,” Bubble stated. 

“No. It’s not. But people don’t care about nice. They care about getting where they’re going and doing what they’re doing, and not caring to look around and see the world and who they’re sharing it with.” 

Bubble was quiet at that for a while, walking alongside Kaylie in deep thought. Kaylie didn’t interrupt her. She had always thought it rude to interrupt someone who was thinking. They could come up with something miraculous or spectacular and you would never know because you stopped their train of thought. And sometimes, with certain people, if you stopped their train of thought, it never started back up again.  

“Hey Kaylie?” Bubble asked as they were passing the city gates and heading for the bakery.  

“Yeah, Bubs?” 

“Does that mean you will outlive all of us? Me, Tyrell, and Dien?” 

“Yes, I probably will,” Kaylie admitted. “But that’s only if I’m not stupid enough to die young. Although, in a way, you’ve already outlived me, I suppose.” 

“What does that mean?” Bubble asked. 

“I died about a year ago.” 

Bubble’s eyes grew wide and her tail did that quick curl of concern it did when she was scared. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, it was during that whole titan in Vasselheim, false god trying to take over the world thing.” 

“You were killed by a false god?” Bubble whispered. 

Kaylie laughed. 

“No, actually, uhh, I was killed by a member of Vox Machina.” 

“What?!”  

Her voice was so shrill that it squeaked at the end. 

“Yeah, it was a misunderstanding, and I don’t hold a grudge against him. But Pike brought me back. But still, I definitely didn’t mean to like, you know, die? Anyway, my point was that if we’re talking about who outlives who, you are technically winning there,” Kaylie said with a shrug. 

“I don’t like that,” Bubble said, her voice small and every bit the child that Kaylie sometimes forgot she was. She was so smart, and so mature, that sometimes that Kaylie just forgot that Bubble was just a child. “I don’t want to outlive you.” 

“I don’t want you to die before me, either,” Kaylie said.  

“Well, we’ll just have to die at the same time. Deal?” 

Bubble stuck out her hand for a handshake, and Kaylie smiled, taking her hand. They shook once. 

“Deal.” 

They walked on in a companionable silence, but Kaylie was brought back to the day in the titan again, waking up in her father’s arms, staring up at him while he cried over her. She hadn’t realized what had happened until the ache in her chest flared as she shifted in his arms. Scanlan was repeating over her, “you’re okay, I’ve got you,” and Kaylie was confused but grateful to have him there. She hadn’t felt grateful for that before. She also hadn’t died before so she supposed it wasn’t that unusual to have a surge of emotion like that.  

Kaylie amended her mental plans to get drunk that night after Bubble went to bed so maybe she could preemptively numb the nightmares that were sure to come. They came every so often, the visions of seeing her own death like a spirit from above, watching as the twins sent their arrows and daggers sinking into her flesh and Cassandra’s, their bodies collapsing to the floor in front of Vox Machina. When she had stayed in Whitestone for a while, Kaylie had asked if Cassandra remembered what had happened. 

Cassandra had lied and said that she didn’t. 

Kaylie still wasn’t sure if she was grateful for that lie or not.  

Maybe it wasn’t as simple of an answer as she wanted it to be. Maybe it was both. Somethings were, she knew that. Somethings didn’t have an either-or answer. Sometimes the truth was multifaceted.      

Life wasn’t simple. It wasn’t black and white, but instead shades of grey that shifted in the light depending on where you stood. It was a matter of perspective. The viewer had different life experiences that informed their bias, and maybe someone was truly  _right_  but that wasn’t anyone’s prerogative to be the person who decided that. No one had that power, not even the gods as blasphemous as it was to say so.  

“Here it is,” Kaylie said, breaking them out of their silence when she saw the bakery up ahead. Its window was lit up in the early morning dawn, and Bubble bounced ahead towards it. They could smell the sticky buns and the fresh bread from down the street. Kaylie was glad that the Keep wasn’t closer to the shops, or the Lyceum for that matter, or else someone would have to roll her to and from class at the Lyceum. The smell alone was intoxicating. It was unfair of something to smell that good, and for that smell to waft on the air, hitting you in the face, even if you were going into the store anyway. Her stomach rumbled, even though they’d eaten already. 

Her stomach knew what day it was, what the motto of the day was. 

Treat yourself.  

Treat others, too.  

But chiefly, treat yourself. 

 

 

* * *

 

Kaylie smiled at Deirdre from across the entryway at the Lyceum. Huddled with her usual friends, the rich and the privileged, she was dressed impeccably as usual with the patented Lemon frown. Kaylie buried the memory of Deirdre’s mouth on her own, but caught Deirdre’s eyes nonetheless. She wasn’t sure what she expected from Deirdre, some kind of kindness in return, at least some kind of recognition of their day before. They had shared so much in those hours, together nearly from dawn until dusk. How had that changed so quickly?    

Deirdre turned away without making any sign that she had seen Kaylie, or that she had even been there. Maybe it had been an act, to see past Kaylie’s defenses and learn her weakness. Maybe Deirdre had just been playing at being her friend, looking for a way inside to humiliate her. That would surprise Kaylie in the slightest, not after what Kaylie had done to Deirdre. Had the whole thing with Deirdre’s father even happened? Was that a ruse as well? 

Kaylie turned her head and focused on Bubble carrying the boxes of baked goods at her side. She had insisted. 

“It’s your birthday!” Bubble had said when Kaylie reached out to lighten the load. 

“Yes? And my limbs are not broken.” 

“No, but I’m still not making you carry these. Let me.” 

So, Bubble carried the boxes, and Kaylie carried Bubble’s pack. It didn’t seem like Bubble really understood that either way Kaylie was carrying something, but she wasn’t going to break it to her.   

Kaylie kept her disappointment about Deirdre’s reaction to herself and forged ahead, finding her small cluster of friends in the corner. They were wearing party hats that they had cleared made themselves from parchment, glue, and string, the only pristine thing about them was the arcane colors. She smiled as Dien lifted a makeshift kazoo to their lips and blew an off-key, terrible note in celebration.  

“That’s terrible,” she stated, and took from the bag at her hip her own kazoo, a cheap but effectively crafted item she’d bought in Westruun before she’d left with Dranzel. “Try this one.” 

Dien took it and blew a solid note, grinning around the instrument.  

“Happy birthday!” Tyrell crowed, reaching towards her and setting another party hat, just as crudely made and brightly colored, on her head. A fourth was set between Bubble’s curling horns, using the strings wrapped around her horns to hold it in place. “How old are you even?” 

“That’s a secret,” Kaylie said. “I’m old, as my father would say. I’m very, very old.” 

Bubble rolled her eyes but didn’t correct her.  

“We brought baked goods!” Bubble said cheerily instead, lifting the boxes towards Dien and Tyrell’s noses, wafting the fresh out of the oven scent up towards them. “Because there’s no use being unhappy when you could be full.” 

Kaylie laughed.  

“Dig in, guys. Breakfast is on me today.” 

With that, Bubble popped open the boxes and let Kaylie, Dien, and Tyrell have first pick. She took her own baked good, and then started moving in the crowd around them with the boxes open. Their peers took their pick and then toasted them to Kaylie. She toasted her own back to the crowd. 

Suddenly, a cheer went up in her mind, catching her off guard. 

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear sweet Kaylie! Happy birthday to you! I love you to the end, Kaylie Shorthalt,” Scanlan sang through a sending message. She smiled despite herself.  

“Thanks, Dad,” she replied. “I’ll be home to Westruun at break in a few weeks. Don’t die before I get home. I love you, too.” 

Doors to classrooms opened, and the milling crowd of students trickled into each classroom, ready to start learning for the day.  

“Keep them,” Kaylie said as Bubble tried to pass the boxes back. “Give them to whoever. Do some kindness today in my name.” 

“Aye,” Bubble said, parroting her own accent back at her with a wink before she disappeared into the crowd. Kaylie shook her head but headed for her own class, falling in step with her classmates down the hall to the very last room in the corridor.  

 

 

* * *

 

It hit her sometime during third bell, halfway through the lecture of ethics and morality of magic and how because of their abilities, they have more to lose in terms of morality and ethical decisions.  

 _I’ll be home to_ _Westruun_ _at break in a few weeks. Don’t die before I get home._  

 _I’ll be home. Don’t die before I get home._  

Home. 

Home? 

 _HOME?!_  

When did Westruun become home in her mind? She used to think only as Kymal, and her mother, as home. She had started to think the keep as home, but it was hard not to after so many weeks of going there when the world was too much. A mud hutch behind a dumpster would start to feel like home after a while. Even the road with its possibilities and promise of anonymity could start to feel that way if you were desperate.  

Her mother, the cramped house with two small bedrooms the size of shoeboxes, the busy street, the tavern it was tucked behind; that’s what she had always thought of as home. But today, as if stumbling straight into the realization, she knew that wasn’t the only place she longed to go after a long day out in the world.  

She didn’t have a place to go there when she was tired and aching. She didn’t even know where she would stay. That wasn’t the point, though. That wasn’t what home was, not to Kaylie. It wasn’t a place, a house, a room. It wasn’t a country or a town. It didn’t matter where she was, as long as she could go home to her father. 

It dug itself into her chest, this feeling, and wove itself into her heart. Her father had a way of doing that, endearing himself to anyone who wanted to hate him. Kaylie had been intent on it, on hating him until his, and her last breath, but she had failed. He was so charming and enthusiastic; how was she supposed to resist? He had gotten inside her defenses and smiled at her, and doted on her. He had done everything she had wished he had down while she was growing up. It wasn’t his fault, she knew, that he hadn’t known about her. She had hated him, and wished him dead, and had sworn to herself that she would never forgive him. 

Funny thing love and feelings. Funny things indeed.  

It didn’t matter your intentions. There was a moment when everything changed, when your intentions fell away and reality took their place. You almost never noticed it at the time, but when you looked back, there it was behind you.  

Kaylie grew up hearing her mother sing the praises of her father, a man she had never seen even once. She heard the love stories that her mother wove for her and she almost believed them for a while, but Kaylie found at the end of every story, after her mother told her that they lived happily ever after, there lived disappointment waiting for her to resurface into the real world where she had a stranger’s face but not his love. 

But she traveled with him. She performed with him. She grew to know him as a person instead of an ideal her mother strived to know again.  It was harder to hate someone when they were so smiley, and tried so hard for you.  

It felt like a betrayal when she thought of him as home. She missed Pike, and she missed Grog, and she missed the weird little family that they had made somehow. She missed that feeling of belonging in their mismatched small and tall family. It felt like a betrayal and a revelation at the same time.  

 

 

* * *

 

The first time she said she was a Shorthalt with the kind of pride it deserved was the day that she died. She woke up in his arms, and he cradled her so gently, stroking her hair and promising her it would be okay. It would be okay.  

 _It would be okay_.  

He said it like a prayer into their shared space, and she had almost believed him. Her body ached, and she was dazed. He promised her that she would be safe, that he would take care of it and he would come home to her. He promised and then he had kissed her on the forehead. 

“Be safe,” he had said. “I’ll come back to you.” 

Gilmore had whisked her and Cassandra away to safety, and when she heard what Vox Machina had done and accomplished, she had cried. Her father had helped take down the greatest evil plaguing their realm.  

“Hello,” a servant had said carefully, approaching her where she was huddled in the corner of a hallway in Whitestone Castle. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay,” Kaylie had sniffled in response. “I’m okay. We’re all okay.” 

“Who are you? Where do you belong?” 

“I’m Shorthalt,” she had said, and she had meant it. “I’m Kaylie Shorthalt.” 

It had radiated through her. She said it with the kind of pride that she used to say she belonged to Sybil, that she was a musician, that she was in the troupe. She belonged to the Shorthalts and all of the ties that came with it. And she was proud of it.  

Alone in her room, waiting for her father to return to Whitestone, she sat on the bed and said it out loud. She said it in every language she knew, letting it come to her tongue. She said it first in Common until it was familiar and at home in her mouth. Then she started in Gnomish, her mother’s tongue warm in her chest. Then, when that was common to her, she moved to Marquesian. She even put it to a tune and sang it to herself like a lullaby, a comfort to herself in dark times. When she played her flute in the streets of Whitestone like a celebration in the name of their saviors, she let her Shorthalt pride into the song, dancing on the air and into the hearts of the citizens.  

It felt like a betrayal. 

Sometimes, it still does. 

Now, sitting in her class in the Lyceum with all of her past behind her, Kaylie was proud of where she had come from, proud of the blood in her veins, the name she had taken, the path she had walked. It felt like a betrayal to who she had been once, full of spite and anger, a bottle rocket ready to explode.  

 The bell rang, startling Kaylie out of herself and back into the moment, her classmates hurriedly packing up to move to their next class. She sat still, staring at her hands, weathered and worn from use, the fingers of her left hand where she fingered the notes on her violin more callused than those on her right. She waited until the class had cleared out; there was no lecture in this room following their own.  

“Miss Shorthalt?” the professor asked, packing his own bag. He was a human, probably the same age as her father but much greyer. “Is everything okay?” 

“I don’t feel like I belong anywhere,” she said honestly. She didn’t mean to. “I was lost for so long, lost in myself, in my anger, in my hatred and resentment, that when it just let go, I was even more adrift. I don’t have a place to go, even when I feel at home. I don’t have that safety net anymore.” 

“That can be scary,” he said, rounding his desk to lean against him. He was wearing a suit of grey the same color as his hair, his eyes hidden behind big round glasses with thick rims. He reminded her of Percy somehow, but softer around the edges where Percy was made of sharp black glass, swallowing the light shining on him. “It can leave a feeling of absence that is hard to fill.” 

“Are you speaking from experience?” Kaylie asked, examining him. He didn’t look like he had experience, honestly. It was hard to grow old in a world determined to kill you, but the professors and masters of the Lyceum didn’t often venture out into the cold embrace of the world, cruel in its patience.  

“I know I look like a stale piece of bread,” the professor admitted, which caught Kaylie off her guard. She let out a surprise laugh and then covered her mouth quickly with her hand. “Professors aren’t supposed to have experiences or interesting lives.” 

She laughed. 

“When I was younger, I was lost most of the time. My parents died when I was young, and my uncle was always at work, and my aunt was sick. I didn’t know where home was, and couldn’t find it inside myself. I was left alone most nights, and I tried to find who I was in a lot of not so great avenues.”  

“Can I ask what those were?” 

He smiled, and it was a rueful smile. 

 “Drugs, gambling, adventure. The usual suspects.” 

She nodded. Ank’harel was full of those suspects, much to her pocket’s delight. When people were drunk, they wanted to spend their money and they didn’t care what on. They were easily duped, too. When you were seeing double, you couldn’t tell if it was a real antique or not. She had cleaned out more than a few sucker’s coin purses for way more than even their best imitations were worth.  

“The point is, that I tried to fill this vacancy with all kinds of things that I thought would make me happy. But what I really wanted was to find a place to belong, a place that accepted me and everything that I had been through. It took me a long time. I wandered through the world glassy-eyed and stumbling, but when I found it, it relit the bonfires in my chest and I felt  _whole_  for the first time in years, since my parents were alive and their warmth surrounded me.” 

“What was it?” 

“The love of my life,” he said, waggling his ring finger at her. A single dark iron band rested there, delicate and hearty at the same time. It was beautiful. “He’s everything I ever wanted and needed, even now after the world has changed around us. He gave me a place where I could be open about my loneliness and he didn’t reprimand me for it. But for that time between my parents and my love, I didn’t know where I was going when I took my next step. All I had was to keep going.” 

“What do you suggest I do?” 

“Go where you feel safe and, this is the most professory thing I will say to you today but meditate on it for a while. See where your heart leads you.” 

 

 

* * *

 

She sat in the temple to Sarenrae in Greyskull Keep that night after she got up to her birthday shenanigans. She made her mother proud, and then returned to the Keep to meditate. 

“Fucking dumb ass meditation,” Kaylie said, settling into the center of the lush garden. Somehow, even without Keyleth’s nurturing, the garden had flourished. “This is dumb. I can’t believe this is what I’m doing. What the fuck am I thinking? I can’t actually think this is going to work.” 

It was actually peaceful in the temple, the flowering trees and bushes around her despite the winter outside, the world quiet. Sitting, she crossed her legs like she had seen one of the troupe members, a halfling man named Setter, do before their shows. He had claimed that it centered him, that it made the show better. She didn’t believe any of it, personally.  

“Okay, Shorthalt. Focus. You got this. Focus.” 

She tried to do as she saw Setter do so many times.  

“If Setter can do it, you can too.” 

She closed her eyes, focused her breathing, and tried to center herself. She didn’t know how to do that though. She didn’t know what it meant. 

Did she literally center herself, aligning her posture and her limbs so they were all straight and equal? She tried that, and it didn’t feel wrong, but nothing immediately happened. Next, she tried to breath as evenly as possible, not impossible as all of her years of musical training had taught her breathing techniques. Not terrible. What next? She relaxed all of her muscles, imagining the routine Setter went through. He would shake himself all out until he was relaxed and loose. She tried that, but she felt fucking dumb doing it.  

“Ioun grant me with some kind of tranquility.” 

The goddess didn’t answer. 

“Well, long shot. Sarenrae? You brought me back, I’m in your temple, do you have anything for me?” 

The goddess didn’t answer. 

“Understandable. It’s on me, then.” 

She settled in again, and focused on herself, the paths stretching out on all sides of her. Falling. That’s what she felt next; she fell into herself, spiraling down into some abyss. It felt like she would never reach to the bottom. 

It was dark, this introspective space, unendingly dark, an expanse so big it might swallow her whole if she were to look away from it. She let herself tumble further down into it, ready to find something in the depths. Suddenly, a vision came to her, images flashing by. It started with her mother lifting her up out of her crib and snuggling her against her lovingly. Her mother smelled like home, a mix of earth and sage that she burned in the kitchen, and safety, wool and the salty tinge of sweat. It was the same scent she came home to for years, reveling in the familiarity of it, especially after weeks on the road with the troupe. Safety and home, her two favorite scents. But recently- 

The image changed to walking down the street next to Scanlan, neither of them dressed as the Meat Man, just a man and his daughter in the streets of Ank’harel. The spicy sweetness of the Suncut Bazaar floated and greeted them on the gentle desert breeze. It was a soft moment, one of rare quietness between them. They weren’t sniping, or snapping. They just were together, side by side, in a big wide world. It smelled like adventure and spontaneity.   

She grew to love the spice and the sweet of being with her father, too. 

Falling. 

Landing. 

She peered around her, the image unfamiliar to her. Then, she saw her mother smiling in a field of wildflowers, a figure across the way from her. A song on the air, plucked from the strings of a lute. Kaylie circled around and was startled at the figure. Her father, much younger, no battle scars, an entirely different man than the one she had spent a year abroad with. This was a boy, she realized, compared to what he had seen now. Her mother, too, looked younger, her skin smoother and clearer. There was a lightness in her expression that Kaylie had never seen. She was barely an adult when they had met, as was Scanlan. But gods, it was hard to imagine Sybil without dark circles. She looked like she was going to step up into the air and fly away, her golden hair glowing like a halo in the afternoon sun. 

It was something out of a fairy tale, the two young gnomes in a picturesque field, the setting sun fire around them, their eyes locked on each other.  It was something out of her mother’s fairytale, actually. This moment was the moment that the bird and the bard had met every night for years when Kaylie was a child. 

Scanlan grinned at Sybil, his voice starting on the wind.  

She watched with her heart in her throat, listening to her father serenade her mother for the first time. The bard’s first song to the bird. Kaylie could hear the lyrical story her mother told her echoed in the song her father sang, the lilts and crests of it, the love story in two parts.  

Then, she was in the temple, tears tracking down her cheeks.  

“That didn’t answer anything.” 

Then, she felt the presence that had graciously walked her back to the land of the living all those months before. Sarenrae. 

“Kaylie Shorthalt,” she said, and her voice was everywhere at once. The room was brighter, warmer, as if a light just for Kaylie had shone down on the temple. “Sweet child. You prayed for guidance, and I am here to guide you. You are not only one place, Kaylie Shorthalt. You are neither bard nor bird.” 

The words struck Kaylie in the chest. 

“But rather,” the goddess continued, her soft voice warm inside of Kaylie, “you are both. You are not limited by the chains of your forefathers, and you are not bound to the place and circumstances of your birth. Just standing here now, you defy your own existence, and that is something you will not find anywhere else but inside of yourself. You have many paths before you, many fates that may meet you, many more than will miss you. But the reason you are lost is not the paths ahead, nor even the path behind. My sweet autumn child.” 

Her mother’s words from a goddess’ mouth. She had to pause to catch her breath. 

“It is your feet.” 

That made Kaylie laugh, looking at her bare feet in the temple’s soft dirt floor.  

“You are unsure of yourself. You faced a great deal of strife and tragedy recently, and there was no relief, leaving you dizzy.” 

Kaylie wasn’t sure she liked this much introspection all at once. 

“Now that you are steady, you lack the one thing a Shorthalt needs in life to succeed. Can you guess, child?” 

“My stunning wit? My charismatic smile? My big brown eyes and full lips?” 

The goddess laughed. 

“No, something much more foundational than all that. Confidence. You have lost in somewhere, and you are floundering without it. That is what you should seek when you are facing the world. Find your confidence, and you will have no problem getting your feet to move again.” 

And just like that, with a brush of her hand against Kaylie’s shoulder, Sarenrae was gone.  

 

 

* * *

 

Kaylie called out as she walked in to her home in Kymal for first time in months, her bag swung over her back and a spring in her step. The world finally felt light as she looked around for her mom.  

“Mom? You here?” 

There was no response, which was unusual. She’d sent a message ahead of time that she would be coming home for a few days before heading up to Westruun for the rest of break. She wanted to see them both, and with only a week, she had to break it up between them. She’d be home for Winter’s Crest in a month following for two weeks, but for now, she just wanted to see her family and chill out. She didn’t want to do magic for the entire week.  

“Mama?”  

She peeked into the bathroom and both bedrooms, but the house was empty.  

“Mama, are you here?” 

No response. She was alone. Dropping her bag by the edge, she curled up on the couch, a new couch she’d never seen before. It was plush and comfortable in a way that the old couch had never been. The old couch had been a worn blue color, stained and torn in places, the hand-me-down of a hand-me-down. It was lumpy and jabbed you if you sat in the wrong spot. In fact, Kaylie looked around and didn’t recognize much of the furniture left in the living room. It had been replaced with fine pieces.  

She smiled and tucked her feet underneath her, pulling out a book from the side-table. It was one of her mother’s favorites, the spine broken and the cover worn from many re-reads. It was a trashy romance novel featuring a saucy, exotic tiefling fresh to a small town falling in love with a half-elf nobleman’s squire despite the nobleman’s protests. Kaylie had picked up the book once a few years before right to the first steamy scene where the squire rips the tiefling’s corset open and fucks her in the barn. Her face had burned while she read it, curious at everything. She hadn’t told her mom that she’d read it, but she had thought about that scene for months after. Flipping to the scene, Kaylie settled in to read it over again, reading it out loud to herself with a bit of drama and flourish.  

When Sybil was teaching her to read, she would have Kaylie read the scenes to her and they would re-enact them together. It was Kaylie’s favorite part of the day. Sometimes, when she was alone, she still made a show of what she was reading. She remembered those parts the best, the drama of the moment real in her heart. 

The front door clattered open some hours later, and Kaylie could hear the rustle of her mother’s bags and skirts as she bustled through it. 

“Is my baby girl here? Sweet autumn baby?” 

“Here, mama!” 

Kaylie stood, and her breath caught in her chest. Her mother had always been beautiful, even when she was tired and dirty, but she was glowing. There was an amazing lightness to the way she moved, the way she walked, and Kaylie was overjoyed to see it. This is what she had always hoped for, that her mother would find some peace and move on from her heartbreak. She was dressed nicely in a new soft blue dress, her hair pulled up into an intricate golden braid with soft blue flowers braided into the plaits.  

She headed right for her mom, and let her collide into Sybil. Her mother tucked her into her arms and they held onto each other. She smelled the same, like wool and yarn and the slightest bit like beer. They were the same height now, and she was so used to being smaller than her mother. She wanted to be again, just for a moment, missing being tucked underneath her mother’s chin.  

“Mama,” she mumbled into Sybil’s neck. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, autumn bird.” 

Sybil led her back over to the couch and they sat tucked into one another, watching the sunset through the windows. Kaylie told her everything about Emon and the Keep and the Lyceum. She told her about Bubble, and Dien, and Tyrell. She even told her about Deirdre. Her mother listened, carding her hands through Kaylie’s hair, nearly to her shoulders, braiding and unbraiding the silky strands.  

“It sounds like you are having a marvelous time,” Sybil said softly as Kaylie was winding down, her stories less fervent. “I’m so glad to hear that you’re doing so well.” 

“And how is life in Kymal?” 

“Oh, it’s going well,” Sybil said, and there was something coy about her tone that tickled at Kaylie’s curiosity. Kaylie leaned away to look at Sybil’s face, searching for some clues as to the cause of her mood change. “What? Aren’t I allowed to be happy?” 

Kaylie bit back the reply that she hadn’t been since Kaylie could remember. That seemed too cruel to mention. She kept that to herself, and instead looked at her mother carefully. The wrinkles, the worry lines, the permanent frown that was pressed into her face, they weren’t gone, but they weren’t as severe. And she was absent-mindedly smiling.  

“Tell me a secret,” Kaylie said, nudging her mom with her elbow playfully. 

“I met someone,” she said softly, her cheeks turning red at the fullest. “I think you would really like him.” 

Kaylie sat up and faced her mother, crossing her legs and resting her face in her hands.  

“Tell me all about him.” 

She wanted to hear the love song for someone else, someone other than her father.  

“He’s very nice,” Sybil started, and Kaylie couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “He is! You behave and let me tell my secrets.” 

“Alright, alright. Go on.” 

Her mother started, telling her about a soft man with weathered hands who had seen her on the street corner walking home one night months ago. She told her about how he had gifted her with a flower he crafted with his own hands, drawing it from nothing, and presenting it to her. It had been hideous, Sybil had laughed, but just the gesture of drawing that from the ether for her made Sybil’s heart sing for the first time in years.  

“I used to think that your father was the only man I would ever love,” she said with a laugh. “But we have such long lives before us, gnomes do. It was shortsighted and pessimistic to think that. There is always life and possibility waiting for you outside the front door.”  

Kaylie smiled at that. 

“If you want, I’ll introduce him to you before you leave. You might- I don’t actually know if you’ll like him.” 

And she laughed. Her mother let out a joyous, bubbling laugh. It sounded like rain in Ank’harel, welcome and uncommon on the sands.  

“If you like him, if he makes you happy, that’s more than enough for me.” 

Sybil grinned and immediately launched into a story about their first date. It was on a bright summer evening, and he brought her flowers that he had crafted himself. They looked just as terrible as the first flower he had given her, but the effort was enough for Sybil. She wanted someone who tried, not someone who was perfect. Gods knew she wasn’t, and she couldn’t expect that from them either. It was the most Kaylie had heard her mother talk, and she couldn’t interrupt her. She let her mother go on, and on, about all the little things he had done for her. They only stopped when their stomachs interrupted.  

Kaylie treated them to dinner at one of the fancier pubs in town, softly lit and quiet, a few tables filled with couples dressed in their finest clothes. She hadn’t even bathed before traveling to Kymal, making use of the teleportation circle in the Lyceum to teleport to Kymal. She had considered drawing herself a bath at home, but it was so cold these days, and she didn’t want to put in the effort. Her mother was radiant, though, her hair clean and her face bright. Kaylie looked like a piece of garbage comparatively.  

“Can I ask a question?” Kaylie asked as the barkeep served them two ales and went off to start their dinner . “If you don’t mind.” 

“Go ahead, of course you may ask.” 

“What made you move on from Dad?” 

Sybil looked up at Kaylie with startled eyes. 

“You’re calling him Dad now?” 

“Hard not to, after a year traveling with him. That didn’t answer my question, though.” 

“It happened slowly, I think,” Sybil said. “When you first sent word that you had met him and he had been so kind to you. When you said that he had helped get you out of Westruun when the goliaths came. When you said you were traveling with him and you didn’t know when you would be home. When he first sent me money, mostly.” 

Kaylie looked up at her mother from her ale. 

“He did?” 

“Of course. He started sometime last year, probably right after he met you.” 

“Why did that-” 

“Why did that stop me loving him?” 

Kaylie couldn’t help the blush that spread over her cheeks and nodded slowly. 

“Somehow, that bag of gold was like an elixir. I think it broke whatever spell held me to him. He was admitting his guilt, and trying to make up for it not with words but with gold. He wasn’t who I thought he was, who I saw him as. It was cleansing to see him for the scoundrel he was.” 

“He’s gotten better.” 

“Yes, well,” Sybil said. “It’s hard to go back to looking at him through that rose tint. He’s not the hero I thought he was. He’s not a good man, not like he seemed.” 

“He is,” Kaylie said, interrupting her mother. “He is a good man. He saved the world. He saved me. He’s been a bit of a player and definitely does not deserve your love, but he  _is_ a good man.” 

“A good man doesn’t abandon his family,” Sybil said. 

Kaylie shook her head. 

“He didn’t abandon us. He didn’t even know about me.” 

“Because he took off before he could.” 

“He didn’t know! He didn’t owe me or you anything.” 

“Kaylie, I love you but you weren’t there. You don’t know what he promised me. You don’t know what happened between us, what he said and promised and then ran away with,” Sybil said, shaking her head wearily at Kaylie. Kaylie took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.  

“Mom, I love you. I owe everything to you. I would have nothing without you. But don’t talk about him like you still know him. He’s a part of me. I’m his daughter. He saved Emon. He saved Whitestone. He saved Marquet, and Vasselheim, and all of Exandria. He’s the reason I’m alive, the reason we’re all alive and not under the control of some fucking wanna-be god. And you don’t have to love him. You don’t have to even like him. You don’t have to accept his apology or understand him, but you do have to understand that I love him. I love the life he gave me, and the childhood I had. He is a part of me in everything I do. He’s the reason I can play violin, and sing. He’s the reason I can do this.” 

She summoned without thinking four globes of light that danced above and around them.  

“I love him, and he loves me, and I need you to accept that.” 

Sybil looked shocked, drink paused halfway to her lips, her jaw a little slack. The lights reflected in her wide eyes.  

“Kaylie, I didn’t know you had grown to care for him so much.” 

“Of course, I have. He’s my father.” 

It came easy, the statement that once would’ve shattered her to say.  

Sybil was silent, stunned in her seat, staring at Kaylie as if she couldn’t understand her daughter, couldn’t recognize her. She had been so used to Kaylie’s anger and ire, had raised her with the fire burning inside since her birth, that her softness was unusual and startling. Kaylie was made of confusion and spite, from brimstone, from blistering sunburns, and from the unrelenting heartburn of persistent anger.  

With age, with experience, with her growing family, blood and found, she could feel herself cooling down, growing softer around the edges, her embers dying. She imagined that when she was a hundred years old, she would be jelly inside and out, a soft pastry dusted with sugar.  

A long moment of silence passed between them, a kind of quiet that was unfamiliar to them. Since she was born, Sybil was always talking, chattering in some way, singing, humming, filling the silence with her voice. Kaylie had learned this trait early, even before Common words could form on her tongue, she was babbling in the silence of her room, her mother not yet awake.   

“Tell me more about your suitor,” Kaylie said, nudging her mother’s leg gently with her boot. Sybil’s smile returned cautiously and then her voice followed. 

 

 

* * *

 

He was just as she said, a soft man with gentle eyes and hands weathered from labor. She met him, Kellen Timbershard, on her way out of town heading towards Westruun. He smiled at her with kind eyes, taking her hand and bowing awkwardly. It was hilarious how different he was from Scanlan, how utterly other he was. Her father was a smooth talker with ill intentions in every word. Kellen was genuine, and honest. He meant what he said. When he looked her in the eyes and told her that it was nice to meet her, he meant it with earnest. He didn’t say it to win her favor. He didn’t say it to convince her of anything. He said it because he meant it. 

It was refreshing. 

“It was nice to meet you,” Kellen said, holding her hand between his. “I would very much like to spend more time with you to get to know you next time you’re around. Plus, it’s nice to see your mother smile.” 

 

 

* * *

 

She could hear her father before she saw the house, followed by a deep, bellowing goliath voice, echoed with her father’s voice again. She rolled her eyes and followed it down the street to the gnome sized home they had settled into with Wilhand Trickfoot. She had only been there once before going to Emon again, but watching Grog move about in the gnome household was humorous. She had wanted to stay longer just to study their interactions more. The Keep was built in such a way to accommodate Grog’s size, but the Trickfoot house hadn’t been built that way, despite it being his home for years.  

Without bothering to knock, she let herself into the house.  

“Hello?” she called.  

“Kaylie!” Scanlan cheered, peeking out of the kitchen, a smear of batter against his cheek. She could see Grog sitting in the living room and Pike over Scanlan’s shoulder in the kitchen. Kaylie set her bags down by the door and followed her nose into the kitchen with her father. It smelled of sweet, cinnamon batter, the sizzling of oil over fire greeting her. “Welcome home!” 

“Hello Kaylie,” Pike greeted.  

“What are you making?” 

“Donuts!” Scanlan said with a grin, gesturing to the finished products on the counter. “Would you like one?” 

“Fuck, yes, I would like one!” 

She took one, still hot, freshly rolled in sugar granules, and took a bite out of it. It was soft and pillowy, practically melting in the mouth. 

“That’s really good,” she said, her mouth full of pastry. Scanlan grinned proudly at her, tossing a fresh donut in a bowl of sugar before placing it beside its brethren in the pile of finished donuts. “What spurred this?” 

“That would actually be my fault,” Pike admitted. “I miss the Slayer’s Cake. I miss making things, trying out new recipes, inventing new recipes with everyone.” 

She shrugged, plunking a rounded ball of batter into the oil. The oil spat and hissed, swallowing the batter while it cooked.  

“I might come around more often just for these,” Kaylie said, taking another bite of her donut. Scanlan smiled at her, his eyes warm for second before he reigned it back in to level his expression. He was careful around her, cautious not to push her away with his affection. It wasn’t unreasonable; she had tried to murder him once.  

“Your room is right where you left it if you need to nap or anything, or to freshen up.” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that,” Kaylie said. “I’ll be down soon.” 

She grabbed her bags and headed up the stairs, stopping to high five Grog (which still hurt her wrist every time, but they were working on it). The room was generic nice, with a gnome-sized bed to sleep in and a dresser where she could store her clothes. She didn’t keep anything personal there. She didn’t really keep anything personal anywhere. 

That wasn’t right, though. Not anymore. She had books and art and keepsakes at the keep, at her home in Emon with Bubble and her collected misfits.  

She set her bag down on the bed and withdrew a few items from it and set them on the dresser top. It wasn’t much, nothing overly personal: a bottle of perfume for Pike from a maker in Emon that smelled of the Everlight and a pocket-sized lute for Scanlan that turned into a full lute upon speaking its command word. She also brought something similar for Grog, a battle axe that entirely fit in the palm of his hand until the command word of his choosing is made.  

Lastly, beside the gifts, she put a leather-bound journal that she’d been keeping as a way to document the dreams and anxieties she’d had over the past couple of months. She kept it nearby in case of emergency, where the world would unexpectedly tunnel and she would remember how it felt to have a dagger sink into her body. It was always on her, with a quill enchanted to never need an ink well, just in case. She pressed her hand against it, trying to imagine some kind of energy that might radiate from such an item.  

Nothing came, but she imagined that it vibrated with anxiety and guilt.  

“Hopefully, we won’t see as much from each other after this,” she said softly to the journal, withdrawing her hand. “But thank you for your time and care, friend.” 

 

 

* * *

 

After dinner, she kicked Scanlan’s foot lightly under the table. 

“Want to take a walk with me?” she asked. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

They excused themselves and dressed for the weather outside. It wasn’t as cold as Whitestone had been, but they had spent a year in Marquet, spoiled by the constant desert heat. Even in the winter months, it was still blisteringly hot. They didn’t speak while they dressed or stepped out into the chill. 

He waited, as he always did, until she wanted to speak.  

“I’ve felt lost since that day in the titan,” she said. “Dying, it got me fucked up.” 

Scanlan let out a surprised laugh, and quickly apologized.  

“You really are my daughter,” Scanlan said, covering his mouth. 

“This is serious,” Kaylie insisted, trying to force her smile down. 

“Yes, yes, of course. Death. Serious.” 

She shoved him playfully. 

“I know that you went through something similar before I did with the death and then coming back to life, and I just, I need you to know that I understand what you went through now, and it is the worst. I keep dreaming that I’m in Whitestone, and then, I’m not in control of my own body, and I can see Vex and Vax coming towards us, and then everything hurts. I don’t know if I was even conscious at that moment when I died, but I’ve imagined it so many times that I feel like I were there anyway. And I keep feeling the moment the dagger killed me, you know? I keep feeling it, and wondering why I’m here.” 

He didn’t interrupt, the mood becoming more somber between them. 

“But I spoke with Sarenrae.” 

“You did?” 

“I did,” Kaylie said. “She’s very kind.” 

“She is,” Scanlan agreed, and Kaylie had to remind herself that they had gone to the fields of Elysium and seen the goddess in person. 

 “She showed me where I belong, and where I come from. I saw the moment Mom fell in love with you.” 

A sad smile crossed Scanlan’s face, one that didn’t reach his eyes. It reminded Kaylie of their first days together outside of Whitestone, when she was still full of spite and fire towards him, when he was freshly alive and his steps weren’t steady yet. She had brought him back to life, and he was so small in that bed, humiliated by his family. He had exploded, all of his own spite and fire blooming in a mushroom cloud around him.  

“I should have been better to your mother,” he admitted. 

“Maybe,” Kaylie agreed. “But as much as I wanted a family as a kid, I wouldn’t trade our lives, our experiences for anything.” 

She paused. 

“Well, I would choose not to die,” she amended. “I’m grateful for everything, but that.” 

“How are you doing?” he asked. 

“Still having nightmares,” she said, and it was the first time she’d been so nakedly honest about her dreams. “Do they ever go away?” 

“No,” he said. 

“Well, at least that’s something to look forward to.” 

He slung his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. She let him. His heat was welcome in the chill of the night. 

“But, you find someone who’s gonna be there when you wake up, and it makes it better, makes seeing all those atrocities easier when someone can remind you that you’re past that, you’re not alone, you’re  _alive_.” 

There was something soft in his voice. 

“Pike give in yet?” 

“No. And I’m not pushing her any longer. If she feels anything for me, she can come to me when she’s ready.” 

“That’s extremely mature of you.” 

He laughed. 

“If she does say yes,” he asked slowly, “how are you gonna feel?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It must be hard to see the possibility of your parents getting together dissipate.” 

“I haven’t believed that you were going to get together for 10 years, Dad.” 

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I like Pike. She’s a good person, the kind of person that’s gonna keep you from being a bastard all the time. She balances you out. She’s strong and tough and full of light, and if you get out of sorts, she can help you find your way back. I like her. I want you to be happy and if you’re happy with Pike, I don’t want me to stand in the way of that.” 

“It’s hypothetical right now but I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You don’t have to worry about me. I moved on from my perfect family fantasy when I was pretty young. Besides, I want you to be happy, and Mom is actually with someone else already.” 

Scanlan's steps stuttered for a single moment, but he kept pace with her as if he hadn’t stalled at all. She didn’t mention it.  

“He’s nice. She’s happy. It’s a good match. Like you and Pike.” 

Scanlan didn’t know how expressive his face was to her. Their entire year together, she had spent studying him, his face, his expressions, his mannerisms. She wanted to know how alike they are and where they differed.  

“How do you feel about it?”  

“It’s a little bittersweet, but I imagined she had moved on after you were born. I didn’t think she had hung on.” 

“My mom’s clingy,” Kaylie said softly. “She clung to me my entire childhood. It’s endearing if you have the stomach for it.” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you growing up, Kaylie. I really am. I didn’t know you existed and I hate that you were in Kymal waiting for me, that you and your were waiting on me to come back.” 

“Would you have? If you had known about me?” 

“I like to think I would have, but I was a different person then. I might have started running harder and farther. I was scared of commitment and family, of losing whoever else came into my life. I don’t know what I would have done but I doubt it would have been good for any of us.” 

Kaylie nodded. 

She liked the way the truth sounded on his lips. 

“Well, either way,” Kaylie said, “the past is the past, and I think we did good despite everyone’s mistakes and shortcomings. I just want us to be happy, you know? I want us to move past any grudges or regrets.” 

“I’d like that, too.” 

“And I think you and Pike is the way to move past that.” 

“I’ll think about it, but even if she never says yes, I already have the best girl in my life,” he said, nudging her. “How can I ask for anything more?” 

“Said the man that became a crime boss out of spite.” 

“Said the daughter that helped him out of enjoyment.” 

“What can I say? I’m a good criminal.” 

They were quiet for a while, walking side by side. 

“Kaylie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You will be okay. You’re a strong woman in a world that doesn’t want you to be strong. You’re smart and capable and I wouldn’t want to take you in a fight. It seems dark now, stumbling around in your mortality, but you will grow around this hurt, this confusion. This moment in your life, this darkness, it has its place in your story, but it’s not your entire story.” 

“That’s a very good line.” 

“You are more than your trauma, and you always will be.” 

 

 

* * *

 

The rest of break passed too quickly, and before she knew it, she was packing up her belongings and heading back to Emon. 

“Be good, kick some ass!” Scanlan had called as she strode across the street towards the fast travel teleportation circle center at the outskirts of town. “Blow them all away!” 

“Figuratively,” Pike had added.  

“Smash their heads in,” Grog had encouraged. 

“Don’t do that! Unless they’re being dicks!” Pike had said. 

And then she was too far away to hear them. 

Returning to Emon was bittersweet. She was glad to be in the city again, to be near her group of misfits, but she was loathe to start up classes again. It wasn’t the learning or the professors that Kaylie hated, but the circle of harpies around Deirdre that somehow made their friendship fleeting, their exchanges cold.  

She wanted to learn everything she could about Deirdre, especially after their day together, but instead, she found the girl drifting farther away. She couldn’t explain it, why she was drawn to her, but she was inexplicably always on a collision course heading straight for her. Well, not  _straight_  for her, but-  

She nearly wept at the sight of Bubble in the doorway to the Keep. The child had to have grown in the past week, which wouldn’t surprise Kaylie. Bubble had grown taller than Kaylie easily, a weed in the summer sun, spreading out and taking up space. She wasn’t aggressive or draining. If anything, Bubble was nutrients in hungry soil, the first real sunshine of the spring, the downpour after a drought.  

“Kaylie!” Bubble cheered and ran to her. She couldn’t help herself from lifting Bubble up, struggling with how tall the child has become. “I missed you!” 

“Missed you too,” Kaylie murmured into Bubble's hair. She ignored the poke of Bubble’s horn against her cheek, too focused on the comforting weight of the child against her chest. Once she was on the ground, Bubble grabbed her hand and dragged her easily into the Keep.  

“Are the others back yet?” Kaylie asked, dropping her bag by the door on their way into the kitchen. It smelled of broth and cloves, the smoky scent of food on the fire for dinner. “More importantly, what are you making?” 

“Wow, how rude,” Dien said from the table. Kaylie waved them off, heading to the stove to peak into the ot over the flame.  

“It is nice to see you,” Kaylie amended, taking the spoon that Bubble held out towards her. It was spicy and sweet at the same time. “But as much as I love my father and his eventual wife, I missed this cooking.” 

Bubble grinned. 

“Can’t blame you there,” Dien offered. “I had to eat sticks and twigs for the whole break. Vegetarianism has never made sense to me.”  

“Oh, there’s a missive that arrived for you this morning!” Bubble finally said, stirring the pot of soup before her. “It’s over there.” 

Kaylie stepped to the table where they kept any mail or requests that arrived. A lot still came for Vox Machina, which Kaylie sent on to them once a week, but the numbers were dwindling the more time passed. They were retired and people were starting to realize that they weren’t at their fortress anymore. Emon wasn’t their home. 

Not anymore. 

The letter wasn’t signed but Kaylie still knew who it was from. 

 _Kaylie,_  

 _Our last contact was not what I had hoped it would be. Please let me make it up to you._  

 

 _Meet me at the gallery after classes our first night back._  

Kaylie folded the paper up and tucked it away into a pocket. She would have to mull that over in peace, away from the curious eyes of her friends, this make-shift family she had found, the hungry bastards she had fallen in love with.  

“A fan letter, hoping to speak with Vox Machina,” Kaylie explained with a shrug. “So, how was your breaks? What did you get up to?” 

 

 

* * *

 

The first day of classes was loud and raucous, the students having been separated for only a week. The professors themselves weren’t trying very hard to keep their classes in order, and Kaylie could see that they themselves were weary from the break. Between the students unable to contain their joy at seeing each other and the professors’ apathy, Kaylie found it hard to stay in the Lyceum. The outside called to her, the fading fall begging for her presence before the winter took it’s hold.  

She waited, though, until their final class let out and headed straight for the gallery. She kept the hood to her winter cloak up over her head, walking briskly. She wasn’t sure what she would find at the gallery. Maybe this was just a set up to humiliate her. Maybe Deirdre was plotting to show the school how pathetic and lost Kaylie was. Or maybe this was just a lonely girl reaching out to apologize. 

Maybe. 

Kaylie kept her eyes ahead, just in case, her ears open for anyone trying to sneak up behind her. She’d had enough surprises in her life. 

The gallery was vacant, the public still at work or preparing dinner. It wasn’t often busy these days, but it stayed open for people who needed the space to grieve. 

She was the only one in the gallery, and she worried briefly that Deirdre had actually set her up. 

“Hey Dad,” she said, passing the portrait of Scanlan alongside others of Vox Machina. It was inexact, and if he weren’t wearing the flamboyant purple robes that Kaylie had grown so used to, she might not even have recognized him. But it held his spirit, if not his likeness. He was smirking at the viewer, a flute in one hand, a wand in the other, and he looked so confident. “Miss you already.” 

There wasn’t anything new from the last time she’d visited, but she wandered through the gallery’s rooms. She’d hoped that Deirdre would be standing in one of them, waiting. But she wasn’t. 

Why would she have reached out to Kaylie like this if she didn’t mean to follow through? 

Unless she was scrying on Kaylie right now, laughing at her expense, this poor, lonely girl who had been duped again. Unless somewhere Deirdre was wrapped up in her nice manor, the fire burning bright across the room, her laughter haughty and echoing in the chamber.  

Kaylie huffed and crossed her arms. 

“Fuck you, if you can hear me!” she said loudly into the empty space. 

“What’s that?” an older halfling woman asked, shakily waddling into the room before her. “Did you say something?” 

“Nothing, just got played again.” 

“Oh, well, that’s nice, deary,” the woman said. She kept herself upright with a cane carved from gnarled wood, her hands gnarled on its handle. Where there had once been golden hair, there was a row of burn scars across one side of her head. In one hand, she carried a bundle of flowers, small yellow buds, out of season. “Don’t mind me, just leaving a gift for my daughter.” 

Kaylie watched the old woman cross the room to a portrait that Kaylie had only glanced at before. It was the largest picture in the room, and before it, there was a shrine on the floor of candles and flowers, ever-burning and ever-growing.  

“She was a good girl,” the woman said without prompt. “A good girl, my Arien. She was good, and smart, and strong.” 

Kaylie leaned against the wall between two paintings, studying the woman. 

“She grew these in our back garden. She was always growing something. We had so many parsnips one year because she was determined to grow the perfect parsnip. Can you imagine? We had so many that we had to give them away to strangers on the street. We couldn’t sell them! No one wanted that many! Not even us! But she kept sowing the seeds and giving them life, praying to the Wildmother that she bless them. And she did. We had so many, it was like she was rewarding our sweet Arien for her patience. She was like that, Arien. Praying to the Wildmother, seeking guidance among the trees and in the fields. She hated it here in the city but we said that this is where our family has always been. This is where we belong.” 

There was a break in the woman’s story as she touched a soft yellow bud to the portrait.  

“Oh, Ari, if only we had listened to you. She was on her way to the market. She had grown some peppers, she said they were the spiciest peppers in Tal’dorei and she was going to sell them! The last thing she said to me was Mama, I’m gonna make us rich off these peppers! Just you wait! I waited, Ari, I waited and you never came home.” 

The portrait, when Kaylie finally lifted her eyes to study it, was of a halfling girl, dressed in green and brown robes, was smiling, her hair tied back, and she’s looking towards the viewer. In her eyes, there’s joy and excitement, but around her, there’s terror. Everything is on fire, shops burning, the sky black with smoke. But there in the middle of it, the halfling girl is still smiling. 

“I asked who painted this,” the old woman continued. “They said that it was anonymously donated. But that’s my Ari, my sweet Arien. Someone saw her that day, the day of the fall, and they captured her perfect likeness. You can tell. If you look at the title, that’s how I know. That’s my Ari. Sunshine Amidst Smoke. That’s my sweet girl.” 

She set the flowers in the bowl beside the others, spelled to never decay.  

“My Sunshine girl, amidst the smoke. If you’re out there, please, come home.” 

The words broke Kaylie’s heart, hearing the hope in this mother’s voice that her daughter will find her way home. She wondered how many times she had been told that Arien would never come back, and how many times she had chosen not to listen, to instead hold onto the hope that she kindled inside herself. She alone carried the burden of that hope, and Kaylie could see the toll it was having on her. There were deep bags below her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept since the Conclave’s attack. Maybe she hadn’t. 

“If you see her,” the old woman said, addressing her now, “let her know I’m looking for her. And I miss her very much.” 

Kaylie agreed, and edged out of the room, heading towards the door. She wanted to escape that moment, that room, that gallery.  

“Oh, there you are,” Deirdre said, catching her attention. She was sat before the picture of the girl carrying a basket with the dragon looming behind her, the same picture she had studied on their last visit. “Come sit.” 

“I don’t want to stay here,” Kaylie said, her voice catching unexpectedly. “I can’t.” 

How many people were waiting for loved ones to come home still from the Chroma Conclave’s attack? From Vecna’s? 

Sometimes, even though they hadn’t known each other at all, Kaylie waited for Vax’ildan to come through the doorway to the keep as if he belonged there.  

What if Pike’s resurrection hadn’t worked and Kaylie had never come home? 

What if her father had had to bring her body back to her mother? What made her so special that she came home to Sybil after dying, and a soft sunshine girl like Arien was dead forever? 

Her breath was labored, her shoulders shaking. She felt uneven. 

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Dierdre said, standing and coming over to her. “We can leave.” 

“No!” Kaylie finally said, shoving Deirdre’s hand off of her shoulder. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you! Why should I trust you? I had a great time the last time we were together, and then you shut me out and wouldn’t speak to me! I don’t want to go anywhere with you!” 

Dierdre looked as if she had struck her. 

“I couldn’t speak to you at school,” she said slowly. 

“Why? Because Kaylie Shorthalt, reject and outcast, would tarnish your reputation?” 

“It wasn’t like that.” 

“Wasn’t it? You only want to be friends with me in private then?” 

“No.” 

“Sure as Nine Hells seems like it! The only time you’re kind to me is when no one else is around.” 

“You’re wrong.” 

“Am I? Then prove it! Tomorrow, at school, talk to me in front of everyone. Tell your circle of catty bitches that tonight you were out with me.” 

Dierdre paled at the suggestion. 

“That’s what I thought. You don’t want to actually be friends with me. Not really.” 

She turned and started to walk off when she heard Dierdre call out to her. 

“You know how to fix this, Deirdre. The ball is in your court now. You do with it what you will.” 

Kaylie strode out without looking back, and when she passed the first tavern, she stopped in and drank until the world started to get too wobbly for comfort. 

 

 

* * *

 

“Are you okay?” Bubble asked the next morning.  

“I’m alright,” Kaylie murmured into her eggs. She both wanted to throw up and shovel the food into her mouth until her stomach simmered the fuck down.  

“I heard you crying last night,” Bubble said. Kaylie lifted her eyes from her plate to the small tiefling across the table.  

“I’m okay,” Kaylie said, but her voice broke a little. “Or I will be.” 

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.” 

“I just went through some stuff a couple months ago and it’s taking a while to work through it.” 

“Well,” Bubble said, and she adjusted in her seat to look at Kaylie directly. “Healing takes a while, and you shouldn’t rush yourself to heal. It’s okay to be hurt and injured. You survived, that’s what’s important. And when you’re whole again, you’re gonna be stronger than ever. Like, when they put old shattered vases together again with gold? You can still see the cracks where the pieces don’t quite fit anymore, but it’s beautiful to look at! That’s you right now! You’re not quite all put back together, but you’re getting there, and when you’re through it, you’ll be a work of art.” 

“When did you get so smart, kid?” Kaylie asked. 

“I’ve always been this smart,” Bubble answered with a nonchalant shrug. “You just haven’t noticed.” 

Kaylie smiled. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said, lifting her plate and bringing it towards the sink. She stopped to drop a kiss into Bubble’s hair. “I’ve always known how smart you are.” 

 

 

* * *

 

Dien and Tyrell stood outside the Lyceum with anxious, shifty expressions, waiting for Bubble and Kaylie to arrive. Dien stood with their arms across their chest, and Tyrell fidgeted with his cuffs, looking up and down the street. 

“What’s up with them?” Kaylie asked Bubble before they got in earshot.  

“No idea,” she answered. “They’re acting like real squirrels, though.” 

“I don’t like it,” Kaylie decided and Bubble agreed. 

“You shouldn’t go in there,” Dien said, standing in front of them. 

“What do you mean? Am I expelled? I didn’t get that drunk last night.” 

“You just, you shouldn’t,” Tyrell said. Kaylie couldn’t help herself from rolling her eyes before trying to push past them. 

“No, really,” Dien insisted. “Not a good idea.” 

“Don’t make me curse you,” Kaylie threatened. Dien and Tyrell seemed to consider this, but in their moment of hesitation, Kaylie barreled through.  

Inside the grand entrance to the Lyceum, the hall had been decorated in bright purple and teal banners, as if a celebration had exploded inside the normally pristine white marble building. Bubble laughed beside her, and Kaylie looked up and around at everything. It was almost garish, the decorations strung from every nook and cranny, and there were party hats on half of the students in contrasting colors. And there, on top of the singular desk in the center of hall, Deirdre stood in Vex’halia’s borrowed clothes, a signed held high above her head. In her perfect, neat script, it read: 

 **_I’M IN LOVE WITH KAYLIE SHORTHALT_ ** 

Kaylie’s jaw dropped. 

“Kaylie Shorthalt!” Deirdre shouted, and everyone turned to look at the elf on the desk. “You wouldn’t let me say a god’s damned word last night, so this is what I’ve resorted to. In front of the whole school, I would like to let you know that I am in love with you, and I didn’t know how to tell you so I just didn’t talk to you. You’re smart, and you’re feisty, and you’re strong. I’ve never met someone as stubborn as you, and I doubt I ever will. You are one of a kind, and I’m in love with you. And, if anyone cares to know, I’m also friends with Kaylie Shorthalt, which she thinks I’ve ahamed of. Which I’m not! I love you, and I can’t stop thinking of that stupid just because you wanted to kiss, and that’s your fault.” 

Kaylie stood frozen, watching as Deirdre hopped down off of her pedestal to stride across the room. Her brain must have fried, because there was no way that Deirdre Lemon stood on a desk in front of the  _ENTIRE LYCEUM_ and announce not only that they were friends but that she was  _in love_  with her. That could not have happened. 

“Bubble, pinch me.” 

She did; a sharp pain from Bubble’s sharp claws dug into the fleshy underside of Kaylie’s arm. And yet, the world of purple and teal still existed. Deirdre kept marching towards her. The Lyceum watched, stupid cone shaped party hats adorning their heads, a sea of purple and teal above pristine white uniforms.  

“What are you doing?” Kaylie asked as Deirdre approached. 

“You said the ball is in my court; well, this is my serve. What do you say?” 

“This is a lot,” Kaylie said, gesturing to everything and everyone around them. 

“I like to be obvious.” 

Kaylie couldn’t look away from her, the shy smile on her lips. She didn’t like to be obvious. Deirdre, as lonely as she was, did not like the attention on her. This was the biggest step she could have made, standing before everyone who could judge her and mock her, and proclaim her feelings with such vigor and enthusiasm. 

“You acted like I was disgusting for kissing you,” Kaylie said, surprising even herself.  

“You surprised me,” Deirdre said. “And- well, that’s for later. What do you say?” 

“Well, you’ve put me on the spot here,” she said, keeping her voice purposefully low in order to give them a small bit of privacy in this center stage moment. 

“From what I know about you, you love to be in the spotlight.” 

“I do love a show.” 

“And unfortunately, I love you for it.” 

Kaylie sighed and looked around. There was a chair nearby that she used Mage Hand to drag towards them, and she climbed up on it.  

“You sure you want me to-” 

Deirdre cut her off with a kiss, inexperienced and imprecise but soft and the kind of kiss that her mother spun fairy tales about. Kaylie had kissed a lot of people and lived through a lot of tales that would be recounted later in a fey-like daze. But this was nothing like those. Kaylie was looking for an orgasm, then, for a quickie to take the edge off her anger. But she felt lighter now, and just a kiss from a beautiful girl tingled in her toes. 

There was a cheer that went up around the room but all Kaylie could hear was the sound of her heart beating too fast. It sounded like a song she’d heard a thousand times, comforting in its familiarity.  

“Alright, alright, let’s break it up. You all have your classes to get to. Let’s get to them.” 

Deirdre kept her hand on Kaylie's, holding it against her own chest. She brought it up to her mouth and brushed her lips over Kaylie’s knuckles. 

“I’m sorry we got off to a rocky start,” Deirdre said softly into her skin. “But I hope we can start new. I wasn’t kind to you am because I was confused and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. We should grab dinner, maybe some cider, after class tonight. I want to talk about some stuff.” 

Kaylie nodded.  

“Trying to get me drunk on our first night together? You know, I’m really starting to like this new bold Deirdre.” 

Deirdre beamed at her. 

“Miss Lemon, Miss Shorthalt,” a voice said from behind Deirdre, splitting their moment open for the world to see. “Get to class.” 

“Yes, Headmaster,” they said automatically. The Headmaster was a very old man, even for elf standards, and they’d seen what kind of magic he was capable of once. He’d punished an older student for cursing another student at the beginning of the year. They hadn’t seen the perpitrator in the halls for weeks.  

No one really knew what the Headmaster had done, but they all knew that they weren’t going to fuck with his rules. 

Not openly. Not where they could be caught. 

As is the nature of crime, Kaylie thought as they hurried away from the elf. Even displays of punishment can’t stop the truly determined.  

It hadn’t stopped her and Scanlan in Ank’harel. It wouldn’t stop her classmates, no matter how many punishments Headmaster put before them. Sometimes, the only option to get what you want is to steal it from the hands of the just. 

Kaylie looked at Deirdre leading the way to their first class.  

Like Deirdre, stealing Kaylie’s affections. 

Like Kaylie, stealing Deirdre’s heart. 

 

 

* * *

 

After class, Kaylie walked Deirdre back to the Laughing Lamia where she’d taken to her that first outing.  

“Two ciders,” she said to Dern who grinned manically. 

“When are you going to come sing for my patrons, Kaylie Shorthalt?” he asked while he worked. 

“Name a date and time, I’ll be here.” 

“I’ll talk to my wife and get back to ye.” 

“Perfect,” she replied, taking the two glasses back to their booth in the corner. Deirdre scooted over into the shadows to allow Kaylie into the seat beside her. It was endearing, the blush on Deirdre’s cheeks, as she recognized what sitting on the same side of the booth signaled to everyone in the tavern. Kaylie slid into the space before Deirdre could second guess and change her mind.  

“Okay, here we go,” Kaylie said, breaking the silence. “Two ciders.” 

They drank in silence for a moment before Deirdre said, “My dad wants me to marry a diplomat from Syngorn.” 

“Excuse me?” Kaylie spluttered, coughing on her cider. 

“That’s what our argument was about. I told him that there was someone that I liked at school, and I wanted to introduce you, and he said that it didn’t matter, I was going to marry Iantoris and that was the end of the conversation.” 

She couldn’t imagine what she would do if Scanlan had placed that decision in front of her. 

“But I told him that I didn’t want to marry a man. I couldn’t love him. He didn’t care. He said that I didn’t have to love him; I just had to give him children and keep the faith between our houses.” 

Deirdre shook her head, staring down into the amber drink before her. 

If Scanlan had told her that it didn’t matter what she wanted, she was to be some random noble’s wife and bare his children, she would have removed his tongue and his balls at the same time. But Deirdre was softer than Kaylie, her anger wasn’t a dagger in a sheath in her chest, waiting for a trigger. 

“You don’t have to do what he wants you to do,” Kaylie said, reaching out and taking Deirdre’s hand in her own. “You are a free person who is not bound to serve her family. If you want, we could go traveling today.” 

“I’m all he has,” Deirdre said sadly. 

“That doesn’t mean you owe him your entire life,” Kaylie said. “Family means nothing if they’re not going to be there for you and support what you want to do with your life.” 

“I don’t know if it works like that,” Deirdre said, “but I do know I would do anything to be with you instead of Iantoris.” 

“He sounds like a prick with a name like that.” 

“He’s fine. He’s just, he’s not my type.” 

“And what is your type?” 

“Mouthy, apparently.” 

Kaylie grinned. 

“But also sweet, and considerate. Kind of bratty.” 

“Wow. Great start to our relationship.” 

“Brave, self-assured, a little bit of an asshole.” 

“Hey- well, no, that’s true. Yeah. It’s from my dad’s side of the family.” 

Deirdre smiled, and leaned in to bump Kaylie with her shoulder. 

“That’s okay. I like it.” 

“So what are you going to do about your father?” 

“I’m going to finish my studies, which he promised, and then I’ll go from there. I don’t have a plan yet, but I’ve got a couple years to figure it out.” 

“I’ve got a proposition,” Kaylie said.  

“I’m all ears.” 

“We finish our studies, as he promised, and then you come with me.” 

“Where?” 

Kaylie shrugged. 

“Everywhere.” 

“Everywhere?” 

“There’s still some parts of Exandria I haven’t seen. Like, all of Wildmount. Never been there. I want to go. I want to see everything, and I would like you to be there when I do.” 

Kaylie watched the thoughts flicker across Deirdre’s face, the insecurities, the doubts, the fears, and finally the desire. This girl had been hiding out in Emon for so long, hiding from the world, her father’s fears becoming her own, that she hadn’t really considered that there was a world to see, that there was a whole planet outside her doorstep that was calling her name. She watched, fascinated. 

“And you promise to protect me?” Deirdre asked. 

“I promise you that I will absolutely protect you, even if you don’t need protection.” 

“And if this doesn’t work?” 

She gestured between Kaylie and herself. 

“I won’t let it not work,” she stated. 

And she realized that she meant it. This girl, power and magic brimming inside of her, wanted to see the world. Kaylie couldn’t imagine not being there to show it to her. 

This was the start to their love story, their own Bird and the Bard, but Kaylie wasn't going to slip away the way her father had. She was all in. This was the great love story she’d tell her children some day, alongside the stories she’d learn to tell. She’d tell them about the boy who had fallen in love with the idea of a girl, and then, after strife and death, he had learned to love her for who she was and not what he had idealized her as. She’d tell them about the Lady who hadn’t been born a lady and the Clock Maker who had once built things much more destruction and terrible than a clock. She’d tell them about the Voice of the Tempest and the raven who had loved her.    

She’d learn to tell them about them, too, about the rivalry of their first months together, of the gallery, of their first kiss, Kaylie on the barrel, kissing a beautiful girl because she wanted to, of the turmoil that roiled inside of Deirdre over her desires and her predetermined destiny. She’d tell them about the big spectacle made for her, and the kiss, their first real kiss, they’d shared, and the cheers that echoed their heartbeats. 

She’d tell them about the adventures they would go on, the monsters they would fight together, the people they’d meet, the places they’d see. She’d tell them about it all. 

But she’d start by telling them about this moment, staring at this beautiful girl with the world in front of her, and the feeling Kaylie had brewing in her chest that this was the start to forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this fic idea since November but because our computer died, I couldn't edit and post it until today! I knew I had a lot of feelings about Kaylie Shorthalt, but I didn't know how many until I kept writing and I came out with 35 thousands words worth of feelings. I hope you guys like it! You can cry to me about the Shorthalts on twitter and tumblr, both handles are KaytiKazoo  
> :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> -K

**Author's Note:**

> Did y'all know I love Kaylie Shorthalt?   
> Because I do.  
> A lot.
> 
> -K


End file.
